
Class. 
Book 



I±l 



v^ 



BRACE BIMDGE HALL, 






THE HUMORISTS. 



lOM— P. L. 560—1-3-18. R. 8967-18. 



PRESENTED BY 



TO THE PUBLIC LIBRARY. WASHINGTON. D, C. 

IN COOPERATION WITH THE 

AMERICAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION 

FOR ARMY AND NAVY CAMPS 



H 



whfc 
. thi« 



NEW-YOKK : 
G. P. PUTNAM k COMPANY, 10 PAKK PLACE. 

1803. 



//*. 



BKACEBUIDGE HALL, 



OR 



THE HUMORISTS. 



^ illcbUg. 



H 



BY 



GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent^. 



' Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. 1 am a traveler, whc 
having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this 
attle spot." 

Christmas Ordinary. 

AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME 



NE W-YOEK : 
G. P. PUTNAM k COMPANY, 10 PAllK PLACE. 

1853. 






fclNTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 

Washington Irving, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
of New- York. 



SOURCE UNKNOWN 

John F. Trow, " '^^^'Y g 8 1925 

"cotifper 
49 Ann-street, 



Printer and Stcreotyper 



CONTENTS. 



The Author, . 

The Hall, 

The Busy Man, 

Family Servants* , 

The Widow, 

The Lovers, 

Family Relics, 

An Old Soldier, . 

The Widow's Retinus, 

Ready- Money Jack, 

Bachelors, 

Wives, 

Story Telling, 

The Stout Gentleman, 

Forest Trees, . 

A Literary Antiquaky, 

The Farm House, 

Horsemanship, 

Love Symptoms, 

x'alconry, . 

Hawking, 

St. Mark's Eve, 

Gentility, 



• « 



Page 

9 

17 

Jl 

27 

35 

41 

45 

51 

55 

59 

65 

69 

77 

79 

91 

97 

103 

109 

115 

119 

125 

133 

143 



vii CONTENTS. 






Page 


Fortune Telling, ..... 


149 


Love Chaii3is, ...... 


. 155 


The Library, ..... 


161 


The Student of Salamanca, . . . 


.165 


English Country Gentlemen, 


249 


A Bachelor's Confessions, . . . • 


. 257 


English Gravity, . . , 


261 


Gipsies, ...... 


267 


May-Day '! ustoms, .... 


. . 273 


Village Worthies, . . . . • 


279 


The Schoolmaster, .... 


283 


The School, ...... 


289 


A Village Politician, .... 


293 


The Rookery, ...... 


. 299 


May-Day, ...... 


30V 


The Manuscript, . . . , . 


. 319 


Annette Delarbre, .... 


323 


Traveling, ...... 


. 349 


Popular Superstitions, .... 


357 


The Culprit, ....... 


. 367 


Family Misfortunes, 


375 


Lovers* Troubles, . . . . , 


. 379 


The Historian, .... 


385 


The Haunted House, . , . , . 


. 389 


Dolph Heyliger, .... 


395 


The Wedding, ...... 


. 471 


The Author's Farewell, .... 


481 



THE AUTHOK 

Worthy Reader : 

On again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a few 
observations at the outset, by way of bespeaking a right under- 
standing. The vphimes which I have already published have 
met with a reception far beyond my most, sanguine expectations. 
I would willingly attribute this to their intrinsic merits; but, in 
spite of the vanity of authorship, I cannot but be sensible that 
their success has, in a great measure, been owing to a less flat- 
tering cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to my European 
readers, that a man from the wilds of America should express 
himself in tolerable English. I v/as loolved upon as something 
new and strange in literature ; a kind of demi-savage, with a 
feather in his hand, instead of on his head ; and there was a curi- 
osity to hear what such a being had to say about civilized society. 
This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling of 
indulgence which it produced. I must now expect to bear the 
scrutiny of sterner criticisms, and to be measured by the same 
standard of contemporary writers ; and the very favor shown 
to my previous writings, will cause these to be treated Avith (lie 
greater rigor; as there is nothing for which the world is a[)t to 
punish a man more severely, than foi- having been over-praised. 
On this head, therefore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of 

1* 



10 THE AUTHOR. 



the reader ; and I entreat he will not think the worse of me foi 
the many injudicious things that may have been said in my com 
mendation. 

I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and treat 
of subjects that have already been discussed by abler pens. In 
deed, various authors have been mentioned as my models, to 
whom I should feel flattered if I thought I bore the slightest 
resemblance ; but in truth I write after no model that I am con- 
scious of, and I write with no idea of imitation or competition. 
In venturing occasionally on topics that have already been almost 
exhausted by English authors, I do it, not with the presumption 
of challenging a comparison, but with the hope that some new 
interest may be given to such topics, when discussed by the pen 
of a stranger. 

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling with 
fondness on subjects trite and commonplace with the reader, I 
beg the circumstances under which I write may be kept in 
recollection. Having been born and brought up in a new coun- 
try, yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old one, my 
mind was early filled with historical and poetical associations, 
connected with places, and manners, and customs of Europe ; but 
which could rarely be applied to those of my own country. To 
a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary objects and 
scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange matter and 
interesting novelty. England is as classic ground to an American 
as Italy is to an Englishman ; and old London teems with as 
mucJi historical association as mighty Rome. 

Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas 
that throng upon his mind on landing among English scenes. 
He for the first time sees a world about which he has been read- 



THE AUTHOR. 11 



ing and thinking in every stage of his existence. The recollected 
ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood ; of the nursery, the school, 
and the study, come swarming at once upon him ; and his atten- 
tion is distracted between great and little objects ; each of which, 
perhaps, awakens an equally delightful train of remembrances. 

But what more especially attracts his notice are those pecu- 
liarities which distinguish an old country and an old state of 
society from a new one. I have never yet grown familiar enough 
Avith the crumbling monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense 
interest with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed always to 
scenes where history was, in a manner, anticipation ; where every 
thing in art was new and progressive, and pointed to the future 
rather than to the past ; where, in short, the works of man gave 
no ideas but those of young existence, and prospective improve- 
ment ; there was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of 
enormous piles of architecture, gray with antiquity, and sinking 
lo decay. I cantiot describe the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm 
with which I have contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintern 
Abbey, buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, and shut up from 
the world, as though it had existed merely for itself ; or a warrior 
pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern loneliness on its rocky 
height, a mere hollow yet threatening phantom of departed power. 
They spread a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual 
charm over the landscape ; I for the first time beheld signs of 
national okl age, and em.plre's decay, and proofs of the transient 
and perishing glories of art, amidst the everspringing and reviv- 
ing fertility of nature. 

But, in tact, to me every thing was full of matter ; the foot- 
steps of history were every where to be traced ; and poetry had 
breathed over and sanctified the land. I experienced t4ie deligh^ 



12 THE AUTHOR. 



ful freshness of feeling of a child, to whom every thing is new 
I pictured to myself a set of inhabitants and a mode of life foi* 
every habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical mansion, 
amidst the lordly repose of stately groves and solitary parks, to 
the straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and its cher- 
ished vroodbine. I thought I never could be . sated with the 
sweetness and freshness of a country so completely carpeted with 
verdure ; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the 
honeysuckled hedge. I was continually coming upon some little 
document of poetry in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the 
cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object that has re- 
ceived a supernatural value from the muse. The first time that 
I heard the song of the nightingale, I was intoxicated more by 
the delicious crowd of remembered associations than by the 
melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget the thrill of ecstasy 
with which I first saw the lark rise, almost from beneath my feet, 
and wing its musical flight up into the morning sky. 

In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, delighted 
^y every object, great and small ; and betraying a wondering 
Ignorance, and simple enjoyment, that provoked many a stare and 
a smile from my wiser and more experienced fellow-travelers. 
Such too was the odd confusion of associations that kept breaking 
upon me as I first approached London. One of my earliest 
wishes had been to see this great metropolis. I had read so 
mucli about it in the earliest books put into my infant hands ; 
and I had heard so much about it from those around me who 
had come from the " old countries," that I was familiar with the 
names of its streets and squares, and public places, before I knew 
those of my native city. It was, to me, the great centre of the 
world, round v/hich every thing seei»i<-d to revolve. I recollect 



THE AUTHOR. 13 



contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the 
Thames, and London bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of 
an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with 
gentlemen in three-cornered hats and broad skirts, and ladies in 
hoops and lappets, that hung no in my bedroom ; even the ven- 
erable cut of St. John's Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in 
front of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its charms 
to me ; and I envied the odd looking little men that appeared to 
be loitering about its arches. 

How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westmin- 
ster Abbey were pointed out to me, rising above the rich groves 
of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze about their gi^ay pin- 
nacles ! I could not behold this great mausoleum of what is most 
illustrious in our paternal history, without feeling my enthusiasm 
in a glow. With what eagerness did I explore every part of the 
metropolis ! I was not content with those matters which occupy 
the dignified research of the learned traveler ; I delighted to call 
up all the feelings of childhood, and to seek Sitter those objects 
Avhich had been the wonders of mj infancy. London Bridge, so 
famous in- nursery song; the far-famed monument; Gog and 
Magog, and the Lions in the Tower, all brought back many a 
recollection of infantine delight, and of good old beings, now no 
more, who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor 
was it without a recurrence of childish interest that I first peeped 
into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's Church-yard, that foun- 
tain-head of literature. Mr. Newberry was the lirst that ever 
filled my infant mind with the idea of a great and good man. 
He* published all the picture-books of the day ; and, out of his 
abundant love for children, lie charged " nothing for either j^vDor 
or print, and only a penny-lialfpenny for the binding !" 



14 THE AUTHOR. 



I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, to shoTv 
you the whimsical crowd of associations that are apt to beset :my 
mind on mingling among English scenes. I hope they may, in 
some measure, plead my apology, should I be found harping upon 
stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fondness for any 
thing antique and obsolete. I know it is the humor, not to say 
cant of the day, to run riot about old times, old books, old cus- 
toms, and old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I have 
caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. To a man from a 
young country all old things are in a manner new ; and he may 
surely be excused in being a little curious about antiquities, whose 
native land, unfortunately, cannot boast of a single iTiin. 

Having been brought up, also, in the comparative simplicity 
of a republic, I am apt to be struck with even the ordinary cir- 
cumstances incident to an aristocratical state of society. If, how- 
ever, I should at any time amuse myself by pointing out some of 
the eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteristics of the 
latter, I would not be understood as pretending to decide upon its 
political merits. My only aim is to paint characters and manners. 
T am no politician. The more I have considered the study of 
politics, the more I have found it full of perplexity ; and I have 
contented myself, as I have in my religion, with the faith in which 
T was brought up, regulating my own conduct by its precepts ; 
but leaving to abler heads the task of making converts. 

T shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have hitherto 
pursued ; looking at things poetically, rather that politically ; de- 
scribing them as they are, rather than pretending to point out 
how they should be ; and endeavoring to see the world in as 
pleasant a light as circumstances will permit. 

I have always had an opinion that much good might be done 



THE AUTHOR. 15 



by keeping mankind in good humor with one another. I may be 
wrong in my philosophy, but I shall continue to practise it until 
convinced of its fallacy. When I discover the world to be all 
that it has been represented by sneering cynics and whinmg poets, 
I will turn to and abuse it also ; in the meanwhile, worthy reader, 
I hope you will not think lightly of me, because I cannot believe 
this to be so very bad a world as it is represented. 
Thine truly, 

GEOFFREY CRAYON 



THE HALL. 



The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping, in this county or the next , and though 
the master of it write but squire, I know no lord Hke him. Merry Beggars. 



The reader, if lie has perused ilie volumes of the Sketch Book, 
v/ill probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with 
which I once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at 
the Hall, having been invited to a wedding which is shortly to 
take place. The Squire's second son, Guy, a fine, spirited young 
captain in the army, is about to be married to his father's ward, 
the fair Julia Templeton. A gathering of relations and friends 
has already commenced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; for the 
old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings. " There 
is nothing," he says, " like launching a young couple gayly, and 
cheering them from the shore ; a good outset is half the voyage." 

Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that the Squire 
might not be confounded with that class of hard-riding, fox-hunt- 
ing gentlemen so often described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct 
in England. I use this rural title partly because it is his univer- 
sal appellation throughout the neighborhood, and partly because 
it saves me the frequent repetition of his name, which is one of 
those rough old English names at which Frenchmen exclaim in 
despair. 

The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old English 




18 BRACEiilUDGE HALL. 

country gentleman ; rusticated a little by living almost entirely 
on liis estate, and something of i humorist, as Englishmen are 
apt to become when they have an opportunity of living in their 
own way. I like his hobby passing well, how^ever, which is, a 
bigoted devotion to old English manners and customs ; it jumps 
a little with my own humor, having as yet a lively and unsated 
curiosity about the ancient and genuine characteristics of my 
'' father land." 

There are some traits about the Squire's family, also, which 
appear to me to be national. It is one of those old aristocratical 
families, which, I believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely 
understood in other countries ; that is to say, families of the 
ancient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank, maintain a 
high ancestral pride : who look down upon all nobility of recent 
creation, and would consider it a sacrifice of dignity to merge the 
venerable name of their house in a modern title. 

This feeling is very much fostered by the importance which 
they enjoy on their hereditary domains. The family mansion is 
an old manor-house, standing in a retired and beautiful part of 
Yorkshire. Its inhabitants have been always regarded, through 
the surrounding country, as " the great ones of the earth ;" and 
the little villag''. near the Hall looks up to the Squire with almost 
feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family of this 
kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day ; and it is 
probably the peculiar humor of the Squire that has retained this 
secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like the 
genuine old style. 

I am again quartered in the paneled chamber, in the antique 
wing of the house. The prospect from my window, however, has 
quite a different aspect from that which it wore on my winter 




THE HALL. IS 

visit. Though early in the month of April, yet a few warm, 
sunshiny days have drawn forth the beauties of the spring, 
which, I think, are always most captivating on their first opening. 
Tiie ' parterres of the oid-fashioned garden are gay with flowers; 
and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed them 
along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed with green 
buds and tender leaves. When I throw open my jingling case- 
ment, I smell the odor of mignionette, and hear the hum of the 
bees from the flowers against the sunny wall, with the varied 
song of the throstle, and the cheerful notes of the tuneful little 
wren. 

While sojourning in this strong-hold of old fashions, it is my 
intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and characters 
before me. I would have it understood, however, that I am not 
writing a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot nor marvelous 
adventure to promise the reader. The Hall of which I treat has, 
for aught I know, neither trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon- 
keep ; and indeed appears to have no mystery about it. The 
family is a worthy well-meaning family, that, in all probability, 
will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up regularly, from one 
end of my work to the other ; and the Squire is so kind-hearted 
that I see no likelihood of his throwing any kind of distress in the 
way of the approaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot foresee a 
single extraordinary event that is likely to occur in (lie whole 
term of my sojourn at the Hall. ^ i^ 

I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he finds me <]al- 
lying along, through every-day English scenes, he may hurry 
ahead, in hopes of meeting with some marvelous adventure fur- 
ther on. I invite him, on the contrary, to ramble gently^Rn with 
me, as he would saunter out into the fields, stopping occasionally 





20 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, with 
out any anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. Should I, 
however, in the course of my wanderings about this old mansion, 
see or hear any thing curious, that might serve to vary the mono- 
tony of this e very-day life, I shall not fail to report it for thr-* 
reader's entertainment : 

For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie, 
Of any book, how grave soe'er it be. 
Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie. 
Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.* 

♦ Mirror for Magistrates. 



4 




THE BUSY MAN. 

A decayed gentlemaA who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's means, tiad 
much good do him with it. He does hold my master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, 
nnd such tricks and jigs, you would admire — he is v/ith him now. Jovial Crew 

By no one has my return to tlie Hall been more heartily greeted 
than by Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the Squire 
most commonly calls him. I encountered him just as I entered 
the park, where he was breaking a pointer, and he received me 
with all the hospitable cordiality with which a man welcomes a 
friend to another one's house. I have already introduced him to 
the reader as a brisk old bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and 
superannuated beau of a large family connection, and the Squire's 
factotum. I found him, as usual, full of bustle ; with a thousand 
petty things to do, and persons to attend to, and in chirping good- 
humor; for there are few happier beings than a busy idler; that 
is to say, a man w4io is eternally busy about nothing. 

I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, 
which is in a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to 
be to himself, and out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own 
taste, so that it is a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions 
of convenience and arrangement. The furniture is made up of 
odd pieces from all parts of the house, chosen on account of their 



22 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



suitin.fl; his notions, or fittins; some corner of his apartment ; and 
he is verv eloquent in praise of an ancient elbow-chair, from 
which he takes occasion to digress into a censure on modern 
chairs, as liaving degenerated from the dignity and comfort of 
high-backed antiquity. 

Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his 
study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his own constructidh, 
on which are several old works on hawking, hunting, and far- 
riery, and a collection or two of poems and songs of the reign ol 
Elizabeth, which he studies out of compliment to the Squire ; 
together with the Novelist's Magazine, the Sporting Magazine, 
the Racing Calendar, a volume or two of the Newgate Calendar, 
a book of peerage, and another of heraldry. 

His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a nnsdl closet ; and 
about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing- 
tackle, whips, spurs, and a favorite fowling-piece, curiously 
wrought and inlaid, Avhich he inherits from his grandfather. He 
has, also, a couple of old single-keyed flutes, and a fiddle which 
he has repeatedly patched and mended himself, affirming it to be 
a veritable Cremona ; though I have never heard him extract a 
single note from it that was not enough to make one's blood ruu 
cold. 

From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the still- 
ness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune ; for he 
prides himself on having a choice collection of good old English 
music, and will scarcely have any thing to do with modern com- 
posers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of 
most use, is now and then of an evening, when he plays for the 
children to dance in the hall, and he passes among them and the 
servant^ for n porfect Orpheus. 



THE BUSY MAN. 23 



His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations: 
Hicre are half-copied sheets ol music; designs for needlework; 
sketches of landscapes, very I iiditferently executed; a camera 
lucida ; a magic lantern, for ^vhich he is endeavoring to paint 
glasses ;' in a word, it is the cabinet of a man of many accom- 
plishments, who knows a little of every thing, and does nothing 
well. 

After I had spent some time in his apartment, admiring the 
ingenuity of his small inventions, he took me about the establish- 
ment, to visit the stables, dog-kjnnel, and other dependencies, in 
which he appeared like a general visiting the different qupj'ters of 
his camp ; as the Squire leaves the control of all these matters to 
him, when he is at the Hall. He inquired into the state of the 
horses ; examined their feet ; prescribed a drench for one, and 
bleeding for another ; and then took me to look at his own horse, 
on the merits of which he dwelt with great prolixity, and whicli, 
I noticed, had the best stall in the stable. 

After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the Squire's, 
which he termed the falconry, where there were several unhappy 
birds in durance, completing their education. Among the num- 
ber was a fine falcon, which Master Simon had in especial train- 
ing, and he told me that he would show me, in a few days, some 
rare sport of the good old-fashioned kind. In the course of our 
round, I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper, whippers-in, and 
other retainers, .seemed all to be on somewhat of a familiar foot- 
ing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke with him, 
tliough it was evident they had great deference for his opinion in 
matters relating to their functions. 

There was one exception, liowcvcr, in a iv^iy old huntsman, 
as hot as a pep))er-roni ; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a thread^ 



84 BRACIJBRIDGE HALL. 



bare velvet jockey-oap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from 
much ^vear, shone as though they had been japanned. He was 
very contradictory and pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to differ 
from Master Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. 
This was particularly the case with respect to the treatment of the 
hav^'k, which the old man seemed to have under his peculiar care, 
and, according to Master Simon, was in a fair way to ruin : the 
latter had a vast deal to say about casting^ and imping^ and gleam- 
ing^ and enseami7ig, and giving the hav/k the r angle, which I saw 
was all heathen Greek to old Christy ; but he maintained his 
point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all this technical lore in 
utter disrespect. 

I was surprised at the good humor with which Master Simon 
bore his contradictions, till he explained the matter to me after- 
wards. Old Christy is the most ancient servant in the place, hav- 
ing lived among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, 
and been in the service of Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows 
the pedigree of every horse on the place, and has bestrode the 
great-great grandsires of most of them. He can give a circum- 
stantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, 
and has a history for every stag's head about the house, and every 
hunting trophy nailed to the door of the dog-kennel. 

All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humor 
him in his old age. He once attended the Squire to Oxford, when 
he was student there, and enlightened the whole university with 
his hunting lore. All this is enough to make the old man opin- 
ionated, since he finds, on all these matters of first-rate impor- 
tance, he knows more than the rest of the world. Indeed, Master 
Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his 
first knowledge in hunting from tlie instructions of Christv ; and 



THE BUSY MAN. 2t 

I much question whether the old man does not still look upon him 
as rather a greenhorn. 

On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in 
front of the house, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, 
and shortly afterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up 
the avenue. At sight of it my companion paused, considered it 
for a moment, and then, making a sudden exclamation, hurried 
away to meet it. As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh- 
looking elderly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned riding-habit, with 
a broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such as may be seen in Sir 
Joshua Reynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white pony, and 
was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an over-fed 
hunter. At a little distance in the rear came an ancient cum- 
brous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as 
corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanci- 
ful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim per- 
sonage, with a look somewhat between a lady's companion and a 
lady's maid, and two pampered curs, that showed their ugly faces, 
and barked out of each window. 

There was a general turning out of the garrison to receive this 
new-comer. The Squire assisted her to alight, and saluted her 
affectionately ; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they em- 
braced with the romantic fervor of boarding-school friends : she 
was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she 
showed distinguished favor ; and a line of the old servants, who 
had collected in the Hall, bowed most profoundly as she passed. 

I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout 
\n his attentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her 
pony up the avenue ; and, while she was receiving the salutations 
of the rest of the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coach- 

9 



26 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



.nan ; to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above all, to say a civil 
word to mj lady's gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in 
the chariot. 

I had no more of his company for the rest of the morning. 
He was swept off in the vortex that followed in the wake of this 
lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, as he was hurrying 
on some errand of the good lady's, to let me know that this was 
Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the Squire's, of large fortune, wliich 
the captain would inherit, and that her estate lay in one of the 
best sporting counties in all England. 






FAMILY SERVANTS. 

Verily old sei vants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping They are like ra.ts in i msB 
iion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode. 

In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often be tempted to 
dwell upon circumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from 
their appearing to me illustrative of genuine national character. 
It seems to me to be the study of the Squire to adhere, as much 
as possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of English 
manners. His servants all understand his ways, and for the 
most part have been accustomed to them from infancy ; so that, 
upon the whole, his household presents one of the few tolerable 
specimens that can now be met with, of the establishment of an 
English country gentleman of the old school. 

By the by, the servants are not the least characteristic part 
of the household : the housekeeper, for instance, has been born 
and brought up at the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from 
it ; yet she has a stately air that would not disgrace a lady that 
had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth. 

I am half inclined to think she has caught it from living 
so much among the old family pictures. It may, however, be 
owing to a consciousness of her importance in the sphere in which 
she has always moved ; for she is greatly respected in the neigh- 



28 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

boring village, and among the farmers' mves, and has high autho- 
rity in the household, ruling over the servants with quiet but un- 
disputed sway. 

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and 
chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a 
small, well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a 
gown festooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, 
is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, 
or an inheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper before 
her. I have a reverence for these old garments, as I make no 
doubt they have figured about these apartments in days long past, 
when they have set off the charms of some peerless family beauty ; 
and I have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper to the 
neighboring portraits, to see whether I could not recognize her 
antiquated brocade in the dress of some one of those long-waisted 
dames that smile on me from the walls. 

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she 
wears over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under 
the chin. Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a 
little by a proper dignity of station. 

The Hall is her world, and the history of the ftimily the only 
history she knows, excepting that which she has read in the 
Bible. She can give a biography of every portrait in the picture 
gallery, and is a complete family chronicle. 

She is treated with great consideration by the Squire. In- 
deed, Master Simon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote 
current among the servants, of the Squire's having been seen 
kissing her in tlie picture gallery, when they were both ^oung. 
As, however, nothing further was ever noticed betw^een them, the 
circumstance caused no great scandal ; only she was observed to 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 29 



take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand 
of the village innkeeper, whom she had previously smiled on. 

The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a rejected 
admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote now and tLen, at those 
little cabals which will occasionally take place among the most 
orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of the gov- 
erned to talk against administration ; but he has left it off, of late 
years, since he has risen into place, and shakes his head re- 
bukingly when it is mentioned. 

It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell upon the 
looks of the Squire when he was a young man at college ; and 
she maintains that none of his sons can compare with their father 
when he was of their age, and was dressed out in his full suit of 
scarlet, with his hair craped and powdered, and his three-cor- 
nered hat. 

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, 
named Phoebe Wilkins, who has been transplanted to the Hall 
within a year or two, and been nearly spoiled for any condition 
of life. She is a kind of attendant and companion of the fair 
Julia's ; and from loitering about the young lady's apartments, 
reading scraps of novels, and inheriting second-hand finery, has 
become something between a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine 
lady. 

She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as 
she will inherit all her aunt's property ; which, if report be true, 
must be a round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated 
wealth of two housekeepers' savings ; not to mention the heredi- 
tary wardrobe, and the many little valuables and knick-knacks 
treasured up in the housekeepers' room. Indeed, the old house- 
keeper has the reputation among the servants and the villagers 



50 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of being passing rich ; and there is a japanned chest of drawers 
and a large iron-bound coffer in her room, which are supposed, 
by the housemaids, to hohi treasures of weaUh. 

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, 
pays a little court to her, as to a person high in authority ; and 
they have many discussions on points of family history, in which, 
notwithstanding his extensive information, and pride of know- 
ledge, he commonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom 
returns to the Hall, after one of his visits to the other branches 
of the family, without bringing Mrs. Wilkins some remembrance 
from the ladies of the house where he has been staying. 

Indeed, all the children of the house look up to the old lady 
with habitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to 
consider them as her own, fw)m their having grown up under 
her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favorite, probably from 
being the youngest, though he is the most mischievous, and has 
been apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood. 

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I be- 
lieve, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at 
dinner, the old housekeeper sails into the room and stands behind 
the Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine with his own 
hands, in which she drinks the health of the company in a truly 
respectful yet dignified manner, and then retires. The Squire 
received the custom from his father, and has always continued it. 

There is a peculiar character about the servants of old Eng- 
lish families that reside principally in the country. They have a 
quiet, orderly, respectful mode of doing their duties. They are 
always neat in their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may use 
the phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the house with- 
out hurry or noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employment, 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 31 



or the voice of command ; nothing of that obtrusive housewifery 
which amounts to a torment. You are not persecuted by the pro- 
cess of making you comfortable ; yet every thing is done, and ia 
done well. The work of the house is performed as if by magic, 
but it is the magic of system. Nothing is done by fits and starts, 
nor at awkward seasons ; the whole goes on like well-oiled clock- 
work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations. 

English servants, in general, are not treated with gre&t 
indulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations ; for the 
English are laconic and reserved toward their domestics ; but an 
approving nod and a kind word from master or mistress goes as 
far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Neither 
do servants often exhibit any animated marks of affection to their 
employers ; yet, though quiet, they are strong in their attach- 
ments ; and the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though 
not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old English 
families. 

The title of " an old family servant " carries with it a thou- 
sand kind associations, in all parts of the world ; and there is no 
claim upon the homebred charities of the heart more irresistible 
than that of having been " born in the house." It is common to 
see gray-headed domestics of this kind attached to an English 
family of the " old school," who continue in it to the day of their 
death, in the enjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the 
performance of faithful, unofiicious duty. I think such instances 
of attachment speak well for both master and servant, and the 
frequency of them speaks well for national character. 

These observations, however, hold good only with families of 
the description 1 have mentioned ; and with such as are somewhat 
retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the country. 



I 



32 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



As to the powdered menials that throng the halls of fashionable 
town residences, they equally reflect the character of the estab 
lishments to which they belong; and I know no more complete 
epitome of dissolute heartlessness, and pampered inutility. 

But the good "old family servant" — the one who has al- 
ways been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart ; who ha? 
led us to school in the days of prattling childhood ; who has been 
the confidant of our boyish cares, and schemes, and oaiterprises ; 
who has hailed us as we came home at vacations, and been the 
promoter of all our holiday sports ; who, when we, in wandering 
manhood, have left the paternal roof, and only return thither at 
intervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of our 
parents ; who, now grown gray and infirm with age, still totters 
about the house of our fathers, in fond and faithful servitude ; 
who claims us, in a manner, as his own ; and hastens with queru- 
lous eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics in waiting upon 
us at table ; and who, when we retire at night to the chamber 
that still goes by our name, will linger about the room to have 
one more kind look, and one more pleasant word about times tliat 
are past — who does not experience towards such a being a feel- 
ing of almost filial affection ? 

I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the grave- 
stones of such valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth 
of natural feeling. I have two before me at tliis moment ; one 
copied from a tombstone of a church in Warwickshire : 

" Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to 
George Birch, Esq., of Hamstead HalL His grateful friend and 
master caused til is inscription to be written in memory of his dis- 
cretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bache^ 
lor) aged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 33 



The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham church- 
yard: 

" Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappj, who departed 
this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, after a faithful 
service of 60 years in one family ; by each individual of which 
he lived respected, and died lamented by the sole survivor." 

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the 
glow about the heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph 
in the church-yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this " sole 
survivor" of a family mourning over the grave of the faithful 
follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento 
of times and friends that had passed away ; and in considering 
this record of long and devoted service, I called to mind the 
touching speech of Old Adam, in " As You Like It," when tot- 
tering after the youthful son of his ancient master : 

" Master, go on, and I will follow thee 
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty." 

Note. — I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen somewhere in th« 
chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to the memory of a family 
servant, who had been a faithful attendant of his lamented daughter, the 
Princess Amelia. George III possessed much of the strong, domestic feeling 
of the old English country gentleman ; and it is an incident curious in monu- 
mental history, and creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a 
monument in honor of the humble virtues of a menial. 



i 



2» 



THE WIDOW. 



She was so charitable and pitious 
She would weep if that she saw a mous 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : 
Of small hounds had she, that she fed 
With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread, 
But sore wept she if any of them were dead, 
Or if man smote them with a yard smart. 

Chaucer. 



Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lilly* 
craft on her arrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that 
I had imagined ; but, on the contrary, a degree of nature, 
and simple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles 
well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. 
She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she rouges considera- 
bly, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put 
up with pins. Her face is pitted with the small-pox, but the 
delicacy of her features shows that she may once have been 
beautiful; and she has a very fair and well-shaped hand and 
arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. 
I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concern- 
ing her. She was a great belle in town between thirty and forty 
years since, and reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of 
beauty, refusing several excellent offers ; when, unfortunately, she 
was robbed of her charms and her lovers by an attack of tha 



Ob BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



small-pox. She retired immediately into the country, where she 
some time after inherited an estate, and married a baronet, a 
former admirer, whose passion had suddenly revived ; " having," 
as he said, " always loved her mind rather than her person." 

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six 
months, and had scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke 
his neck in a fox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. 
She has remained on her estate in the country ever since, and 
has never shown any desire to return to town, and revisit the 
scene of her early triumphs and fatal malady. All her favorite 
recollections, however, revert to that short period of her youthful 
beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at that time ; and 
continually forgets that the place and people must have changed 
materially in the course of nearly half a century. She will often 
speak of the toasts of those days as if still reigning ; and, until 
very recently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, and 
the beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot be 
brought to think of the present king otherwise than as an elegant 
young man, rather wild, but who danced a minuet divinely ; and 
before he came to the crown, would often mention him as the 
" sweet young prince." 

She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, where the 
gentlemen appeared in gold-laced coats and cocked hats, and the 
ladies in hoops, and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues ; 
and she thinks the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dig- 
nity, when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled 
shoes. She has much to say too of the officers who were in the 
train of her admirers ; and speaks familiarly of many wild young 
blades, who are now, perhaps, hobbling about watering-places with 
crutches and gouty shoes. 



I 



THE WIDOW. 37 



Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discour- 
aged her or not, I cannot say ; but though her merits and her 
riches have attracted many suitors, she has never been tempted 
to venture again into the happy state. This is singular, too, for 
she seems of a most soft and susceptible heait ; is always talking 
of love and connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old-fash- 
ioned gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on the 
part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her own .aste. 
Her house, I am told, must have been built and furnished about 
the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every thing about it is some- 
what formal and stately ; but has been softened down into a 
degree of voluptuousness, characteristic of an old lady, very ten- 
der-hearted and romantic, and who loves her ease. The cushions 
of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when 
you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate 
kind are placed about the rooms and on little japanned stands ; 
and sweet bags lie about the tables and mantlepieces. The house 
is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who are as 
carefully waited upon as she is herself. 

She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, living 
on white meats, and little ladylike dishes, though her servants 
have substantial old English fare, as their looks bear witness. 
Indeed, they are so indulged, that they are all spoiled ; and when 
they lose their present place, they will be fit for no other. Hei 
ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings that are always 
doomed to be much liked, but ill served by their domestics, and 
cheated by all the world. 

Much of her time is past in reading novels, of •vvliicli she 
has a most extensive library, and a constant supply from the 
publishers in town. Her erudition in this line of literature is 



38 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

immense ; she has kept pace with the press for half a century 
Her mind is stuffed with love-tales of all kinds, from the stately 
amours of the old books of chivalry, down to the last blue-covered 
romance, reeking from the press ; though she evidently gives the 
preference to those that came out in the days of her youth, and 
when she was first in love. She maintains 'that there are no 
novels written now-a-days equal to Pamela and Sir Charles 
Grandison ; and she places the Castle of Otranto at the head of 
all romances. 

She does a vast deal of good in her neighborhood, and is im- 
posed upon by every beggar in the county. She is the benefac- 
tress of a village adjoining her estate, and takes an especial 
interest in all its love affairs. She knows of every courtship that 
is going on ; every lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient lis- 
tener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains 
to reconcile all love-quarrels, and should any faithless swain per- 
sist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw on himself the good 
lady's violent indignation. 

I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Brace- 
bridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am now able to account 
for the assiduous attention of the latter to her ladyship. Her 
house is one of his favorite resorts, where he is a very important 
personage. He makes her a visit of business once a year, when 
he looks into all her affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt 
to get into confusion. He examines the books of the overseer, 
and shoots about the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with 
game, notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vagabonds in 
the neighborhood. 

It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will inherit 
the greater part of her property, having always been her chief 



THE WIDOW. 3& 



lavorite : for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now 
come to the Hall to be present at his nuptials, having a great dis- 
po^iition to interest herself in all matters of love and matrimony. 



THE LOVERS. 

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ; for lo the winter is past, the rain is ovei 
and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the 
voice of the turtle is heard in the land. 

Song of Solomon. 

To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot ; 
and^ho, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins 
to look with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of wo- 
man ; to such a man, I say, there is something very entertaining 
in noticing the conduct of a paii- of young lovers. It may not be 
as grave and scientific a study as the loves of the plants, but it is 
certainly as interesting. 

I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my arrival at 
the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has 
all the delightful, blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inex- 
perienced in coquetry, who has made her first conquest ; while 
the captain regards her with that mixture of fondness and exul- 
tation with which a youthful lover is apt to contemplate so beau 
teous a prize. 

I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along one 
of the retired walks. The sun was shining with delicious warmth, 
making great masses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. 
The cuckoo, that " harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from 



42 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



a distance ; tlie thrush piped from the hawthorn ; and the yellow* 
butterflies sported, and toyed, and coqueted in the air. 

The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to his 
conversation, with her eyes cast down, a soft blush on her cheek, 
and a quiet smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung negli- 
gently by her side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they 
were sauntering slowly along ; and when I considered them, and 
the scene in which they were moving, I could not but think it a 
thousand pities that the season should ever change, or that young 
people should ever grow older, or that blossoms should give way 
to fruit, or that lovers should ever get married. 

From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand 
that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favorite college friend of 
the Squire ; who, after leaving Oxford, had entered the Jgpj, 
and served for many years in India, where he was naortally 
wounded in a skirmish with the natives. In his last moments he 
had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife and daughter to 
the kindness of his early friend. 

The widow and her child returned to England helpless and 
almost hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received accounts of 
their situation, he hastened to their relief He reached them just 
in time to soothe the last moments of the mother, who was dying 
of a consumption, and to make her happy in the assurance that 
her child should never want a protector. 

The good Squire returned with his prattling charge to his 
strong-hold, where he has brought her up with a tenderness truly 
paternal. As he has taken some pains to superintend her educa- 
tion, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his no- 
tions, and considers him the wisest as well as the best of men. 
Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady Lillycraft, who 



THE LOVERS. 43 



has iiistructed her in the manners of the old sclioolj and enriched 
her mind with all kinds of novels and romances. Indeed, her 
ladyship has had a great hand in promoting the match betv/een 
Julia and the captain, having had them together at her country 
seat, the moment she found there was an attachment growing up 
between them ; the good lady being never so happy as when she 
has a pair of turtles cooing about her. 

I have been pleased to see the fondness with which ^he fair 
Julia is regarded by the old servants at the Hall. She has been 
a pet with them from childhood, and every one seems to lay some 
claim to her education ; so that it is no wonder she should be 
extremely accomplished. The gardener taught her to rear flowers, 
of which she is extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical 
huntsman, softens when she approaches ; and as she sits lightly 
and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having taught 
her to ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as 
a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an insight into the 
mysteries of the toilet, having been dressing-maid in her young 
days to the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this 
last claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady had 
an air of the old school, though managed with native taste, and 
that her hair was put up very much in the style of Sir Peter 
Lely's portraits in the picture gallery. 

Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned 
character, and most of her songs are such as are not at the present 
day to be found on the piano of a modern performer. I have, 
however, seen so much of modern fashions, modern accomplish- 
ments, and modern fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of antiquated 
style in so young and lovely a girl ; and I have had as much 
pleasure in hearing her warble one of the old songs of Herrick, 



44 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as 
from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark it up and down through 
the finest bravura of Rossini or Mozart. 

We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, be- 
tween her and the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, 
who scrapes, dubiously, on his violin ; being very apt to get out, 
and to halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums 
a little on the piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice 
can generally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and an 
occasional false note. 

I was praismg the fair Julia's performance to him after one 
of her songs, when I found he took to himself the whole credit 
of having formed her musical taste, assuring me that she was very 
apt ; and, indeed, summing up her whole character in his knowing 
way, by adding, that " she was a very nice girl, and had no noii- 
Kiense about her." 



FAMILY RELICS. 

My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, 

The dimple on lier cheek : and yich sweet skiL 

Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown, 

These lips look fresh and lively as her own. 

False colors last after the true be dead. 

Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, 

Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 

Of all the music set upon her tongue. 

Of all that was past woman's excellence 

In her white bosom ; look, a painted board 

Circumscribes all ! Dekkea. 

An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. It 
abounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, 
and humors, and manners, of successive generations. The altera- 
tions and additions, in different styles of architecture ; the furni- 
ture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and sporting imple- 
ments of different ages and fancies ; all furnish food for curious 
and amusing speculation. As the Squire is very careful in col- 
lecting and preserving all family relics, the Hall is full of remem- 
brances of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can 
picture to myself the characters and habits that have prevailed at 
different eras of the family history. I have mentioned on a for- 
mer occasion the armor of the crusader which hangs up in the 
Hall. There are also several jackboots, with enormously thick 



46 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

soles and high heels, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, who filled 
the Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the 
Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique 
fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green hock-glasses, with 
the apostles in relief on them, remain as monuments of a genera- 
tion or two of hard livers, who led a life of roaring revelry, and 
first introduced the gout into the family. 

I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary 
tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; but I cannot forbear to notice 
a pair of antlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies 
of a hard-riding squire of former times, who was the Nimrod of 
these parts. There are many traditions of his wonderful feats in 
hunting still existing, which are related by old Christy, the hunts- 
man, who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least doubted. 
Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, 
which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from his having 
cleared it in the ardor of the chase ; there can be no doubt of the 
fact, for old Christy shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on 
the rocks on each side of the chasm. 

. Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great vei? 
eration, and has a number of extraordinary stories to tell cod 
cerning him, which he repeats at all hunting dinners ; and I an^ 
told that they wax more and more marvelous the older they grow 
He has also a pair of Rippon spurs which belonged to thif 
mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particulat 
occasions. 

• The place, however, which abounds most with mementoes of 
past times, is the picture gallery ; and there is something strangely 
pleasing, though melancholy, in considering the long rows of por- 
traits which compose the greater part of the collection. They 



FAMILY RELICS. 47 



furnish a kind of narrative of the lives of the family worthies 
which I am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable 
housekeeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted occasionally 
by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for 
instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as 
a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her 
arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as 
if she could not turn her head. In another we find her in the 
freshness of youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, 
and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to 
run desperate and write bad poetry. In another she is depicted 
as a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms ; next to the 
portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in full-bottomed wig 
and gold-laced hat, who was killed abroad ; and, finally, her monu- 
ment is in the church, the spire of which may be seen from the 
window, where her efiigy is carved in marble, and represents her 
as a venerable dame of seventy-six. 

In like manner I have followed some of the family great men 
through a series of pictures, from early boyhood to the robe of 
dignity, or truncheon of command, and so on by degrees, until 
they were garnered up in the common repository, the neighboring 
church. 

There is one group that particularly interested me. It con- 
sisted of four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about 
a century since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were 
extremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and 
romance this old mansion must have been, when they were in the 
heyday of their charms ; when they passed like beautiful visions 
through its halls, or stepped daintily to music in the revels and 
dances of the cedar gallery ; or printed, with delicate feet, the 



48 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they have been looked 
up to with mingled love, and pride, and reverence, by the old 
family servants ; and followed with almost painful admiration by 
the aching eyes of rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, 
and tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, and their 
echoes whispered to the loitering tread of lovers ! How must 
these very turrets have made the hearts of the young galliards 
thrill, as they first discerned them from afar, rising from among 
the trees, and pictured to themselves the beauties casketed like 
gems within these walls ! Indeed, I have discovered about the 
place several faint records of this reign of love and romance, 
when the Hall was a kind of Court of Beauty. 

Several of the old romances in the library have marginal 
notes expressing sympathy and approbation, where there are long 
speeches extolling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or 
bewailing the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The inter- 
views, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers, also 
bear evidence of having been frequently read, and are scored 
and marked with notes of admiration, and have initials written 
on the margins ; most of which annotations have the day of the 
month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, 
have scraps of poetry engraved on them with diamonds, taken 
from the writings of the fair Mrs. Philips, the once celebrated 
Orinda. Some of these seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; 
and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inaccurate 
in the spelhng, have evidently been written by the young ladies 
themselves, or by female friends, who have been on visits to the 
Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their favorite author, 
and they have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines 
among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the 



FAMILY RELICS. 49 



verse bewails the cruelty of beauty, and the sufferings of constant 
love ; while in a female hand it prudishly confines itself to lament- 
ing the parting of female friends. The bow-window of my 
bed-room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of these 
beauties, has several of these inscriptions. I have one at this 
moment before my eyes, called " Camilla parting with Leonora :" 

" How perished is the joy that's past, 
The present how unsteady ! 
What comfort can be great and last. 
When this is gone already ?" 

And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventurous 
lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence : 

" THEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA. 

I'd rather in your favor live. 

Than in a lasting name ; 
And much a greater rate would give 

For happiness than fame. 

Theodosius, 1700." 

When I look at these faint records of gallantry and tender- 
ness ; when I contemplate the fading portraits of these beautiful 
girls, and think too that they have long since bloomed, reigned, 
grown old, died, and passed away, and with them all their graces, 
their triumphs, their rivalries, their admirers ; the whole empire 
of love and pleasure in which they ruled — " all dead, all buried, 
all forgotten," I find a cloud of melancholy stealing over the 
present gayeties around me. I was gazing, in a musing mood, 
this very morning, at the portrait of the lady, whose husband was 

3 



50 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, leaning on 
the arm of the captain. The sun shone through the row of win- 
dows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beam out 
each time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door 
at the bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness of 
heart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot : a few more 
years of sunshine and shade, and all this life, and loveliness, and 
enjoyment, .will have ceased, and nothing be left to commemorate 
this beautiful being but one more perishable portrait ; to awaken 
perhaps, the trite speculations of some future loiterer, like myseK 
when I and my scribblings shall have lived through our brief 
existence, and been forgotten. 



AN OLD SOLBTTIR. 

Fve wotn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; fed this good sword 
Witli the black blood of pagan Christians ; converted n few infidels with it. — But let that pass 

The Ordinary. 

The Hall was throv/n into some little agitation, a few days since, 
oy the arrival of G(^eral Harbottle. He had been expected 
for several days, and looked for, rather impatiently, by several 
of the family. Master Simon assured me that I would like the 
general hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an 
excellent table companion. Lady Lillycraft, also, appeared to 
be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of the general's arrival, 
for die had been one of her early admirers; and she recollected 
him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the ^own. 
She actually spent an hour longer at her toilette, and made ter 
appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzed and powdered, 
and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little 
surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe dashing en- 
sign transformed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin ; 
tliough it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations ; the 
graciousness of her profound courtesy, and the air of the old school 
with which the general took off his hat, swayed it gently in his 
bond, and bowed his powdered head. 

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the 
general witli a little more attention than, perhaps, I should other- 



62 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



wise have done ; and the few days that he has already passed at 
the Hall have enabled me, I think, to furnish a tolerable likeness 
of him to the reader. 

Pie is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, 
wdth powdered head, side locks, and pigtail. His face is shaped 
like the stern of a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at 
bottom, with full rosy cheeks and a double chin ; so that, to use 
the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said to be pow- 
erfully developed. 

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active 
service, except the taking of Seringapatam, w^hich forms an era 
in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a 
diamond on his finger, which he got on that Occasion, and whoever 
is unlucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve nimself in 
the wdiole history of the siege. To judge from the general's 
conversation, the taking of Seringapatam is the most important 
affair that has occurred for the last century. 

On the approach of warlike times on the continent, he was 
rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers 
of merit ; until, having been hoisted to the rank of general, he 
was quietly laid on the shelf. Since that time his campaigns have 
been principally confined to watering-places ; where he drinks 
the waters for a slight touch of the liver wliich he got in India ;• 
and plays whist with old dowagers, with whom he has flirted in 
his younger days. Indeed, he talks of all the fine women of the 
last half century, and, according to hints which he now and then 
drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of them. 

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of 
almost every place famous for good quarters, and where the 
inhabitants give good dinners. He is a diner-out of first-rate 



AN OLD SOLDIER. 53 

currency, when in town ; being invited to one place, because hs 
has been seen at another. In the same way he is invited about 
the country-seats, and can describe half the seats in the kingdom, 
from actual observation ; nor is any one better versed in court 
gossip, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the nobility. 

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there 
are several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady 
Liliycraft, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly 
passes some time, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at 
a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and pow- 
dered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, 
he walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, humming an 
air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand behind 
his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, and 
then raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, in these morning 
promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of the family, as he fre- 
quently does Lady Liliycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, 
and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladles anf^ 
gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor-terrace, or Kensington gardoi 

He talks frequently about " the service,'^ and is fond of bun 
ming the old song, 

Why, soldiers, why, 

Should we be melancholy, boys ? 

Why, soldiers, why. 

Whose business 'tis to die ! 

I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any 
great risk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy, or an indigestion. 
He criticises all the battles on the continent, and discusses the 
merits of the commanders, but never fails to bring the conversa- 



54 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 



tion, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told 
tliat the general \^'as a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, 
parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked 
to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when laboring 
mider the terror of Bonaparte's invasion. 

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees 
when in town. He has treasured up many remarkable sayings 
of the late king, particularly one which the king made to him on 
a field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of his horse. 
He extols the whole royal family, but especially the present king, 
whom he pronounces the most perfect gentleman and best whist- 
player in Europe. The general swears rather more than is the 
fashion at the present day ; but it was the mode in the old school. 
He is, however, very strict in religious matters, and a stanch 
churchman. He repeats the responses very loudly in church, and 
is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family. 

At table his royalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, 
and the song of " God save the King " puts him into a perfect 
ecstacy. He is amazingly well contented with the present state 
of things, and apt to get a little impatient at any talk about 
national ruin and agricultural distress. He says he has traveled 
about the country as much as any man, and has met with nothino- 
but prosperity ; and to confess the truth, a great part of his time 
is spent in visiting from one country-seat to another, and ridin^^ 
about the parks of his friends. " They talk of pubhc distress," 
said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a glass 
of I'irh burgundy, and cast his eyes al)0ut the ample board ; " tht.y 
talk of pubhc distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see none. 
1 see no reason any one has to complain. Take my word for it, 
sir, this talk about public distress is all humbug !" 



THE WIDOW'S RETINUE 

Little dogs ami all ! 

Lear. 

In giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lillycraft at the 
Hall, I ought to have mentioned the entertainment which I 
derived from vvdtnessing the unpacking of her carriage, and the 
disposing of her retinue. There is something extremely amusing 
to me in the number of factitious wants, the loads of imaginary 
conveniences, but real incumbrances, with which the luxurious 
are apt to burthen themselves. I like to watch the whimsical 
stir and display about one of these petty progresses. The num- 
ber of robustious footmen and retainers of all kinds bustling 
about, with looks of infinite gravity and importance, to do almost 
nothing. The number of^heavy trunks, and parcels, and band- 
boxes belonging to my lady ; and the solicitude exhibited about 
some humble, odd-looking box, by my lady's maid ; the cushions 
piled in the carriage to make a soft seat still softer, and to pre- 
vent the dreaded possibility of a jolt ; the smelling-bottles, the 
cordials, the baskets of biscuit and fruit ; the new publications ; 
all provided to guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui ; the led 
horses to vary th6 mode of traveling ; and all this preparation 
and parade to move, perhaps, some very good-for-nothing person- 
age about, a little space of earth ! 



56 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 



I do not mean to apply the latter part of these observations 
to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple kind-heartedness I have a 
very great respect, and who is really a most amiable and worthy 
being. I cannot refrain, however, from mentioning some of the 
motley retinue she has brought with her; and which, indeed, 
bespeak the overflowing kindness of her nature, ivhich requires 
her to be surrounded with objects on which to lavish it. 

In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coachman, 
with a red face, and cheeks that hang down like dew-laps. He 
evidently domineers over her a little with respect to the fat 
horses ; and only drives out w^hen he thinks proper, and when he 
thinks it will be " good for the cattle." 

She has a favorite page to attend upon her person : a hand- 
some boy of about twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet 
very much spoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He 
is dressed in green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons 
about his clothes. She always has one or two attendants of the 
kind, who are replaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen 
years of age. She has brought two dogs with her, also, out of a 
number of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fat 
spaniel, called Zephyr — though heaven defend me from such a 
zephyr ! He is fed out of all shape and comfort ; his eyes are 
nearly strained out of his head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and 
cannot walk without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, 
gray muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles 
like a coal if you only look at him ; his nose turns up ; his mouth 
is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth ; in short, he has 
altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, and totally 
sick of the world. When he walk^?, he has his tail curled vp so 
tight that it seems to lift his feet from the ground ; and he seldom 



THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 57 



makes use of more than three legs at a time, keeping the other 
drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty. 

These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to vulgar 
dogs ; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the 
tenderest kindness. They are pampered and fed with delicacies 
by their fellow-minion, the page ; but their stomachs are often 
weak and out of order, so that they cannot eat ; though I have 
now and then seen the page give them a mischievous pinch, or 
thwack over the head, when his mistress was not by. They 
have cushions for their express use, on which they lie before the 
fire, and yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least 
draught of air. When any one enters the room, they make a 
tyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are in- 
solent to all the other dogs of the establishment. There is a 
noble stag-hound, a great favorite of the Squire's, who is a privi- 
leged visitor to the parlor ; but the moment he makes his appear- 
ance, these intruders fly at him with furious rage ; and I have 
admired the sovereign indifference and contempt with which he 
seems to look down upon his puny assailants. When her lady- 
ship drives out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take 
the air ; when they look out of each window of the carriage, and 
bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. These dogs are a continual 
source of misery to the household : as they are always in the way, 
they every now and then get their toes trod on, and then there is 
a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on the part of 
their mistress, that fill the room with clamor and confusion. 

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. 
Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the most intolera- 
ble and intolerant virgins that ever lived. She has kept her vir- 
tue by her until it has turned sour, and now every word and look 

3* 



58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



smacks of verjuice. She is the very opposite to her mistress, for 
one hates, and the other loves, all mankind. How they first came 
together I cannot imagine ; but they have lived together for many 
years ; and the abigail's temper being tart and encroaching, and 
her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has got the complete 
upper hand, and tyrannizes over the good lady in secret. 

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confi- 
dence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if 
Mrs. Hannah makes her appearance. Indeed, she has been so 
accustomed to be attended by her, that she thinks she could not 
do \vithout her ; though one great study of her life is to keep Mrs. 
Hannah in good humor, by little presents and kindnesses. 

Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with 
awe, for this ancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a 
whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone — in fact, he added ano- 
ther epithet, which I would not repeat for the world. I have re- 
marked, however, that he is always extremely civil to her when 
taey meet. 



READY-MONEY JACK. 

My purse, it is my privy wyfe, 
This song I dare both syng and say, 
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe 
When every man for hymself shall pay. 
As I ryde in ryche array 
For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe ; 
By thys matter I dare well saye, 
Evergramercy myneovvne purse. 

Book of Hunting. 

On the skirts of the neighboring village there lives a kinl of 
small potentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one 
of the most ancient legitimate lines of the present day ; for the 
empire over which he reigns has belonged to his family time out 
of mind. His territories comprise a considerable number of good 
fat acres ; and his seat of power is in an old farmhouse, where 
he enjoys, unmolested, the stout oaken chair of his ancestors. 
The personage* to whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the 
name of John Tibbets, or rather Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, as 
he is called throughout the neighborhood. 

The first place where he attracted my attention was in the 
church-yard on Sunday ; where he sat on a tombstone after the 
service, with his hat a little on one side, holding forth to a small 
circle of auditors ; and, as I presumed, expounding the Liav and 
the prophets; until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he Avas 
only expatiating on the merits of a brown horse. He presented 



60 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



so faithful a picture of a substantial English yeoman, such as h^. 
is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some little 
finery, peculiar to himself, that I could not but take note of his 
whole appearance. 

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, muscular frame, 
and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion's, 
and set off with short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar 
was turned down, and displayed a neck covered with the same 
short, curling, gray hair ; and he wore a colored silk neckloth, tied 
very loosely, and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste 
brooch on the knot. His coat was of dark green cloth, with sil- 
ver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own 
name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner waistcoat of 
figured chintz, betw'een Avhich and his coat was another of scarlet 
cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches ^vere also left unbuttoned at the 
knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scar- 
let garters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks ; he wore 
large silver shoe-buckles ; a broad paste buckle in his hatband ; 
his sleeve-buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces ; and he had 
two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. 

On making some inquiries about him, I gathered, that he was 
descended from a line of farmers that had always lived on the 
same spot, and owned the same property ; and that half of the 
church-yard was taken up with the tombstones of his race. He 
has all his life been an important character in the place. When 
a youngster he was one of the most roaring blades of the neigh- 
borhood. No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, 
cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the renowned 
Pmner of Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried ofi" the 
prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at the country round. 



READY-MONEY JACK. 61 



Even to this day the old people talk of his prowess, and under- 
value, in comparison, all heroes of the green that have succeeded 
him; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to take the 
field even now, there is no one could stand before him. 

When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook their heads, and 
predicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the old 
homestead ; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment 
he succeeded to the paternal farm he assumed a new ijharacter : 
took a wife ; attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an in- 
dustrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he inherited 
a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He 
saw to every thing himself; put his own hand to the plough; 
worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for every thing 
in cash down ; and never danced except he could do it to the 
music of his own money in both pockets. He has never been 
without a hundred or two pounds in gold by him, and never allows 
a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained 'him his current name, 
of which, by the by, he is a little proud ; and has caused him to 
be looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the village. 

Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never denied him- 
self the amusements of life, but has taken a share in every pass- 
ing pleasure. It is his maxim, that " he that works hard can 
afford to play." He is, therefore, an attendant at all the country 
fairs and wakes, and has signalized himself by feats of strength 
and prowess on every village green in the shire. He often makes 
his appearance at horse-races, and sports his lialf guinea, and even 
iiis guinea at a time ; keeps a good horse for his own riding, and 
to this day is fond of following the hounds, and is generally in at 
the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and hospitalities too, 
for which his paternal farmhouse has always been noted ; has 



K9 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



plenty of good clieer and dancing at harvest-home, and, above all, 
keeps the " merry night/'^' as it is termed, at Christmas. 

With all his love of amusement, however. Jack is by no means 
a boisterous jovial companion. He is seldom known to laugh even 
in the midst of his gay'ety ; but maintains tlie same grave, lion-like 
demeanor. He is very slow at comprehending^ a joke ; and is 
apt to sit puzzling at it, with a perplexed look, while the rest of 
the company is in a roar. This gravity has, perhaps, ^rown on 
him with the growing weight of his character ; for he is gradu- 
ally rising into patriarchal dignity in his native place. Though 
he no longer takes an active part in athletic sports, he always 
presides at them, and is appealed to on all occasions as umpire. 
He maintains the peace on the village green at holiday games, 
and quells all brawls and auarrels by collaring the parties and 
shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one ever pretends to 
raise a hand against him, or to contend against his decisions ; the 
young men having grown up in habitual awe of his prowess, and 
in implicit deference to him as the champion and lord af the 
green. 

He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the landlady 
having been a sweetheart of his in early life, and he having 
always continued on kind terms with her. He seldom, however, 
drinks any thing but a draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays 
his reckoning before leaving the tap-room. Here he " gives his 
little senate laws ;" decides bets, which are very generally refer- 
red to him ; determines upon the characters and qualities of 

"^ Merry NiaiiT. A rustic merry-making in a farmhouse about Christ 
mas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance of homely 
fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, amusing games, romping, 
rlnncing, and kissing withal. They commonly break up at midnight. 



READY-MONEY JACK. 63 



horses ; and, indeed, plays now and then the part of a judge, m 
settling petty disputes between neighbors, which otherwise might 
have been nursed by country attorneys into tolerable law-suits. 
Jack is very candid and impartial in his decisions, but he has not 
a head to carry a long argument, and is very apt to get perplexed 
and out of patience if there is much pleading. He generally 
breaks through the argument with a strong voice, and brings mat- 
ters to a, summary conclusion, by pronouncing what he calls the 
" upshot of the business," or, in other words, " the ..ong and the 
short of the matter." 

Jack made a journey to London a great many years since, 
which has furnished him with topics of conversation ever since. 
Ee saw the old king on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and 
pointed him out to one of the princesses, being probably struck 
with Jack's truly yeoman-like appearance. This is a favorite an- 
ecdote with him, and has no doubt had a great effect in making 
him a most loyal subject ever since, in spite of taxes and poors' 
rates. He was also at Bartholomew fair, where he had half the 
buttons cut off his coat ; and a gang of pickpockets, attracted by 
his external show of gold and silver, made a regular attempt to 
hustle him as he was gazing at a show ; but for once they caught 
a tartar ; for Jack enacted as great wonders among the gang as 
Samson did among the Philistines. One of his neighbors, who 
had accompanied him to town, and was with hin_ at the fair, 
brought back an account of his exploits, which raised the pride 
of the whole village ; who considered their champion as having 
subdued all London, and eclipsed the achievements of Friar Tuck, 
or even the renowned Eobin Hood himself. 

Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the world 
easily ; he works less, and indulges in greater leisure, his sor 



64 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



having grown up, and succeeded to him both in the labors of the 
farm, and the exploits of the green. Like all sons of distin- 
guished men, however, his father's renown is a disadvantage to 
aim, for he can never come up to public expectation. Though a 
fine active fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the " cock of the 
walk," yet the old people declare he is nothing like what Ready- 
Money Jack was at his time of life. The youngster himself ac- 
knowledges his inferiority, and has. a wonderful opinion of the 
old man, who indeed taught him all his athletic accomplishments, 
and holds such a sway over him, that I am told, even t© this day, 
he w^ould have no hesitation to take liim in hands, if he rebelled 
against paternal government. 

The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows him 
to all his visitors, as a specimen of old English " heart of oak." 
He frequently calls at his house, and tastes some of his home- 
brewed, w^hich is excellent. He made Jack a present of old 
Tusser's " Hundred Points of good Husbandrie," which has fur- 
nished him wdth reading ever since, and is his text-book and 
manual in all agricultural and domestic concerns. He has made 
dog's ears at the most favorite passages, and knows many of the 
poetical maxims by heart. 

Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or fluttered by high 
acquaintances, and though he cherishes a sturdy independence 
of mind and manner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions 
of the Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pronounces 
*' a true gentleman every inch of him." He is, also, on excellent 
terms with Master Simon, who is a kind of privy counselor to 
the family ; but his great favorite is the Oxonian, whom he taught 
to wrestle and play at quarter-staff when a boy, and considers the 
most promising young gentleman in the whole county. 



BACHELORS. 



The Bachelor most joyfully 

In pleasant plight doth pass his dales, 
Goodfellowship and companie 

He doth maintain and keep alwaies. 

Evan's Old Ballads. 



There is no character in the comedy of human life more difficull 
to play well, than that of an old Bachelor. • When a single gen- 
tleman, therefore, arrives at that critical period when he begins 
to consider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, I would 
advise him to look well to his ways. This period, it is true, is 
much later with some men than with others ; I have witnessed 
more than once the^jjleeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, 
who had not seen each other for several years, and have been 
amused by the amicable exchange^ of compliments on each others 
appearance that takes place on such occasions. There is always 
one invariable observation : " Why bless my soul ! you look 
younger than when last I saw you !" Whenever a man's friends 
begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure 
that they think he is growing old. 

I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Master 
Simon and the general, who have become great cronies. As the 
former is the youngest by many years, he is regarded as quite a 



ee BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



youthful blade by the general, who moreover looks upon him as a 
man of great wit and prodigious acquirements. I have already 
hinted that Master Simon is a family beau, and considered 
rather a young fell©^ by all the elderly ladies of the connection ; 
for an old bacheterjjn'an old family connection, is something like 
an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to " flourish in 
immortal youth," and wiU continue to play the Romeos and Ran- 
gers for half a century together. 

Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a dif- 
ferent hue with every diiferent companion : he is very attentive 
and officious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft ; 
copies out little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and 
draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids to be worked on 
the corners of her pocket*^handkerchiefc. Pie indulges, however, 
in very considerable latitude with the mother married ladies of the 
family ; and has many sly pleasantries to whisper to them, that 
provoke an equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan. But when he 
gets among young company, such as Frank Bracebridge, the Ox- 
:)nian, and the general, he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to 
talk in a very bachelor-like strain about the sex. 

In this he has been encouraged by the example of the gcntn\al, 
whom he looks up to as a man that has seen the world. The 
general, in fact, tells shocking stories after dinner, when the 
ladies have retired, which he gives as some of the choice things 
that are served up at the Mulligatawney club ; a knot of boon 
companions in London. He also repeats the fat jokes of old Ma- 
jor Pendergast, the Avit of the club, and which, though the gen- 
eral can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. 
Bi-aeebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an inde- 
cent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of the 



BACHELORS. 67 



declension in gay life, by which a young man of pleasure is itpt 
to cool down into an obscene old gentleman. 

I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two since, con- 
versing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadow ; and from their 
elbowing each other now and then, and the general's shaking his 
shoulders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit 
of irrepressible laughter, I had no doubt they were playing the 
mischief with the girl. 

As I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but think 
they would have made a tolerable group for a modern picture of 
Susannah and the two elders. It is true, the girl seemed in no 
wise alarmed at the force of the enemy; and I question, had 
either of them been alone, whether she would not have been 
more than they would have ventured to encounter. Such veteran 
roysters are daring wags when 'together, and will put any female 
to the blush with their jokes ; but they are as quiet as lambs 
when they fall singly into the clutches of a fine woman. 

In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a little vain of 
his person, and ambitious of conquests. I have observed him on 
Sunday in church, eyeing the country girls most suspiciously ; and 
have seen him leer upon them with a downright atnorous look, 
even when he has been gallanting Lady Lilly craft, with great cere- 
mony, through the church-yard. The general, in fact, is a veteran 
in the service of Cupid rather than of Mars, having signalized 
himself in all the gamson towns and country quarters, and seen 
service in every ball-room of England. Not a celebrated beauty 
but lie has laid siege to ; and if his word may be taken in a mat- 
ter wherein no man is apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible the 
success he has had with the fair. At present he is like a worn- 
out warrior, retired from service ; but who still cocks his beaver 



68 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



with a militaiy air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever he 
comes within the smell of gunpowder. 

I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, 
about the folly of the captain in taking a wife ; as he thinks a 
young soldier should care for nothing but his " bottle and kind 
landlady." But, in fact, he says, the service on the continent has 
had a sad effect upon the young men ; they have been ruined by 
light wines and French quadrilles. "They've nothing/' he says, 
" of the spirit of the old service. There are none of your six- 
bottle men left, that were the souls of a mess-dinner, and used 
to play the very deuce among the women." 

As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and 
easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his portmanteau ; 
but a married man, with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts 
him in mind of a chamber-candlestick, with its extinguisher hitched 
to it. I should not mind all this if it were merely confined to the 
general ; but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend. Master 
Simon, who already begins to echo his heresies, and to talk in the 
style of a gentleman that has seen life, and lived upon the io^Yn. 
Indeed, the general seems to have taken Master Simon in hand, 
and talks of showing him the lions when he comes to town, and 
of introducing him to a knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney 
club ; which, I understand, is composed of old nabobs, officers in 
the company's employ, and other "men of Ind," that have seen 
service in the East, and returned home burnt out with curry, and 
touched with the liver complaint. They have their regular club, 
where they eat Mulligatawney soup, smoke the hookah, talk about 
Tippoo Saib, Seringapatam, and tiger-hunting ; and are tediously 
agreeable in each other's company. 



WIVES. 



Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse 
Than is the quiet joy of loving wife ; 
Which whoso wants, lialf of himselfe doth misso ; 
Friend without change, play-fellow without strife, 
Food without fulnesse, counsaile without j ride, 
Is this sweet doubling of our single life. 

Sir p. Sidney 



There is so much talk about matrimony going on around me, in 
consequence of the approaching event for which we are assembled 
at the Hall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exercised 
on the subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment 
seem to be passing through a kind of fiery ordeal ; for Lady Lilly- 
craft is one of those tender, romance-read dames of the old school, 
whose mind is filled with flames and darts, and who breathe no- 
thing but constancy and wedlock. She is for ever immersed in 
the concerns of the heart; and to use a poetical phrase, is per- 
fectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The very gene- 
ral seems to feel the inffuence of this sentimental atmosphere ; to 
melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget 
all his haresies about matrimony and the sex. 

The good lady is generally surrounded by little documents of 
her prevalent taste ; novels of a tender nature ; richly-bound little 
books of poetry, that are filled with sonnets and love tales, and 



70 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



perfumed wit?li rose-leaves ; and she has always an album at hand, 
for which she claims the contributions of all her friends. On 
looking over this last repository the other day, I found a series of 
poetical extracts, in the Squire's handwriting, which might have 
been intended as matrimonial hints to his ward. I was so mucl 
struck with several of them, that I took the liberty of copying 
them out. They are from the old play of Thomas Davenport 
published in 1661, entitled "The City Night-cap ;" in which i-S 
drawn out and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the character 
of a patient and faithful wife, which I think might vie with that 
of the renowned Griselda. 

I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should 
always end at the wedding, and should not give us another act, 
and another volume, to let us knov/ how the hero and heroine 
conducted themselves when married. Their main object seems to 
De merely to instruct young ladies how to get husbands, but not 
how to keep them : now this last, I speak it with all due diffidence, 
appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married life. It is 
appalling to those who have not yet adventured into the holy state, 
to see how soon the flame of romantic love burns out, or rather is 
quenched in matrimony ; and how deplorably the passionate poetic 
lover declines into the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am in- 
clined to attribute this very much to the defect just mentioned in 
the plays and novels, which form so important a branch of study 
of our young ladies ; and which teach them how to be heroines, 
but leave them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. 
The play from which the quotations before me were made, how- 
ever, is an exception to this remark ; and I cannot refuse myself 
the pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit of tlu^ 
reader, and for the honor of an old writer, who has bravely at- 



WIVES. 71 



tempted to awaken dramatic interest in favor of a woman, even 
after she was married ! 

The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her husband 
Lorenzo : 

She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; 

Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks. 

She inflames love with wonder,) but because 

She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. 

She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, 

The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent, 

(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself 

To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom 

Or never walks abroad in your company ; 

And then with such swTet bashfulness, as if 

She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight 

To step into the print your foot hath made. 

And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive 

Tediousness out of time with her sweet character. 

Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia had the misfor- 
tune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her husband. Instead, 
however, of resenting his harsh treatment with clamorous upbraid- 
ings, and with the stormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which 
the sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame, she endures 
it with the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; and makes 
the following beautiful appeal to a friend who has witnessed her 
long-suffering : 

Hast thou not seen me 

Bear all his injuries, as the ocean sufl'ers 

The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom, 

And yet is presently so smooth, the eye 

Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made ? 



72 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representations, at length 
repudiates her. To the last, however, she maintains her patient 
sweetness, and her love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She de- 
plores his error, even more than his unkindness ; and laments the 
delusion which has turned his very affection into a source of bit- 
terness. There is a moving pathos in her parting address to Lo- 
renzo after their divorce : 



• Farewell, Lorenzo, 



Whom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry. 
May you meet a good wife ; so good, that you 
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy 
Of your suspicion : and if you hear hereafter 
That I am dead, inquire but my last words, 
And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you. 
And when you walk forth with your second choice 
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me. 
Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, 

Strewing your path with flowers 

But may she never live to pay my debts : (weeps) 

If but in thought she wrong you, may she die 

In the conception of the injury. 

Pray make me wealthy with one kiss : farewell, sir: 

Let it not grieve you when you shall remember 

That I was innocent : nor this forget. 

Though innocence here sufl^er, sigh, and groan. 

She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne. 

In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error, and the innocence 
of his injured wife. In the transports of his repentance, he calls 
to mind all her feminine excellence ; her gentle, uncomplaining, 
womanly fortitude under wrongs and sorrows ; 



WIVES. 73 



• Oh, Abstemia ! 



How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest 
Chaster than is the morning's modesty 
That rises with a blush, over who«e bosom 
The western wind creeps softly ; now I remember 
How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye 
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well. 
Unless it looked where I look'd : oh how proud 
She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! 
But where now ig this fair soul 1 Like a silver cloud 
She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. 
And will be found no more. 

It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in ^he fate of 
Abstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored 
to the arms and affections of her husband, rendered fonder than 
ever, by that disposition in every good heart to atone for past 
injustice, by an overflowing measure of returning kindness : 

Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms ; I am now 

Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far 

Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice 

DeckM up for death with garlands. The Indian winds 

That blow from off the coast, and cheer the sailor 

With the sweet savor of their spices, want 

The delight flows in thee. 

I have been more affected and interested by this little dra- 
natic picture than by many a popular love tale ; though, as I 
said before, I do not think it likely either Abstemia or patient 
Grizzle stands much chance of being taken for a model. Still 1 
like to see poetry now and then extending its views beyond the 
wedding day, and teaching a lady how to make herself attractive 

4 



74 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



even after marriage. There is no great need of enforcing on an 
unmarried lady the necessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any 
great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. 
Nature has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is in itself 
attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no foreign aid 
to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, 
and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman 
needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on 
her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can 
expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when he was 
a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much by 
the arts of the sex, as by their own imaginations. They are 
always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman 
should therefore ascertain what was the charm which rendered 
her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when 
she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the 
chariness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female 
always observes. She should maintain the same niceness and 
reserve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a 
freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She 
should remember that the province of woman is to be wooed, not 
to woo; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful 
being in love ; bounty loses instead of winning him. The secret 
of a woman's power does not consist so much in giving, as in 
withholding. A woman may give up too much even to her hus- 
band. It is to a thousand little delicacies of conduct that she 
must trust to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that 
dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance with every 
weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these 
means she may still maintain her power, though she has surren- 



WIVES. 75 



dered her person, and may continue the romance of love even 
beyond the honey-moon. 

" She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Taylor, " must 
entice him to an eternal dearnesse by the veil of modesty, and 
the grave robes of chastity, the ornament of meeknesse, and the 
jewels of faith and charity. She must have no painting but 
blushings; her brightness must be purity, and she must shine 
round about with sweetnesses and friendship ; and she shall be 
pleasant while she lives, and desired when she dies." 

I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on a trite 
subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to meddle with. That 
I may not, however, appear to confine my observations entirely to 
the wife, I will conclude with another quotation from Jeremy 
Taylor, in which the duties of both parties are mentioned ; while 
I would recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to all those 
who, wiser than myself, are about entering the happy state of 
wedlock. 

" There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them 
both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its 
variety by circumstances and little accidents : and what in one is 
called love, in the other is called reverence ; and what in the 
wife is obedience the same in the man is duty. He provides, and 
she dispenses ; he gives commandments, and she rules by them ; 
he rules her by authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought 
by all means to please him, and he must by no means displease 
her." 



STORY-TELLING. 

A FAVORITE evening pastime at the Hall, and one which the 
worthy Squire is fond of promoting, is story-telling, " a good old- 
fashioned fireside amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe 
he promotes it chiefly because it was one of the choice recreations 
in those days of yore, when ladies and gentlemen were not much 
in the habit of reading. Be this as it may, he will often, at sup- 
per table, when conversation flags, call on some one or other of 
the company for a story, as it was formerly the custom to call for 
a song ; and it is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and 
even satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman will sit and 
listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard for at least a 
hundred times. 

In this way one evening the current of anecdotes and stories 
ran upon mysterious personages that have figured at different 
times, and filled the world with doubt and conjecture ; such as 
the Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented 
the curiosity of all Europe ; the Invisible Girl, and last, though 
not least, the Pigfaced Lady. 

At length one of the company was called upon who had the 
most unpromising physiognomy for a story-teller that ever I had 
seen. He was a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely ner- 
vous, who had sat at one corner of the table, shrunk up, as it 



78 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



were, into himself, and almost swallowed up in the cape of his 
coat, as a turtle in its shelL 

The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agita- 
tion, yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, 
made a few odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get 
his muscles into order, or his voice under command, and then 
offered to give some account of a mysterious personage whom he 
had recently encountered in the course of his travels, and one 
whom he thought fully entitled of being classea with the Man 
with the Iron Mask. 

I was so much struck with his extraordinary narrative, that I 
have written it out to the best of my recollection, for the amuse- 
ment of the reader. I think it has in it all the elements of that 
mysterious and romantic narrative, so greedily sought after at 
the present day. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 



A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. 



"I'll cross it, though it blast me!'* 

Hamlet. 



It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of November. 1 
nad been detained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indis- 
position, from which I was recovering ; but was still feverish, and 
obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town 
of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn !■— -whoever has had 
the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The 
rain pattered against the casements ; the bells tolled for church 
with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows in quest of 
something to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been 
placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The win- 
dows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of 
chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view 
of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make 
a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The 
place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by 
travelers and stable-boys. In one corner was a stagnant pool of 
water, surrounding an island of muck ; there were several half- 
drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was 



80 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit ; 
his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along 
which the water trickled from his back ; near the cart was a half- 
dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained 
on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide ; a wall- 
eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was px)king his 
spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from 
the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse hard by, 
uttered something every now and then, between a bark and a 
yelp ; a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards 
through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; 
every thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a 
crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions round 
a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My room 
soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is 
technically called the travelers'-room. This is a public room set 
apart at most inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers, 
called travelers, or riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, 
who are incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, 
or by coach. They are the only successors that I know of at the 
present day, to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the same 
kind of roving adventurous life, only changing the lance for a 
drivii.g-whip, the buckler for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail 
for an upper Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of 
peerless beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing 
of some substantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are ready at 
any time to bargain in his name ; it being the fashion now-a-(?ays 
to trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the room of the 
hostel, in the good old fighting times, would be hung round at 



i 



rnK STOUT GENTLEMAN. 81 



night with the armor of way-woin warriors, such as coats of 
mail, falchions, and yawning helmets ; so the travelers'-room is 
garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with box-coats, 
whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to talk 
with, but was disappointed. There were, indeed, two or three in 
the room ; but I could make nothing of them. One was just 
finishing his breakfast, quarreling with his bread and butter, and 
huffing the waiter ; another buttoned on a pair of gaiters, with 
many execrations at Boots for not having cleaned his shoes well ; 
a third sat drumming on the table with his fingers and looking at 
the rain as it streamed down the window-glass ; they all appeared 
infected by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, 
without exchanging a word. 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people, 
picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted midleg high, 
and dripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets 
became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daugh- 
ters of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the house 
for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at 
the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. 
They at length were summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced 
mother, and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. 

What was I to do to pass away the long-lived day ? I was 

sadly nervous and lonely ; and every thing about an inn seems 

calculated to make a dull day ten times duller. Old newspapers, 

smelling of beer and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read 

half a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that were worse 

than rainy weather. I bored myself to death with an old volume 

of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the commonplaced names 

4* 



82 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of ambitious travelers scrawled on the panes of glass ; the eter- 
nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Jacksons, and 
the Johnsons, and all the other sons ; and I deciphered several 
scraps of fatiguing in-window poetry which I have met with in 
all parts of the world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the slovenly, rag- 
ged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along ; there was no variety 
even in the rain : it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — 
patter — patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by 
the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a 
passing umbrella. 

It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed 
phrase of the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn 
blew, and a stage-coach whirled through the street, with outside 
passengers stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and 
seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats 
and upper Benjamins. 

The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of 
vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hos- 
tler, and that non-descript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other 
vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle 
was transient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and 
dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes ; 
the street again became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. 
In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up ; the barometer 
pointed to rainy weather ; mine hostess' tortoise-shell cat sat by 
the fire washing her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; 
and, on referring to the Almanac, I found a direful prediction 
stretching from the top of the page to the bottom through the 
whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — this — time I" 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 83 



I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would 
aever cieep by. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. 
At length the stillness of the house was interrupted by the ring- 
ing of a bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at the 
bar: "The stout gentleman in No. 13, wants his breakfast. Tea 
and bread and butter, with ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too 
much done." 

In such a situation as mine every incident is of importance. 
Here was a subject of speculation presented to my mind, and 
ample exercise for my imagination. I am prone to paint pictures 
to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work 
upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith or 
Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the 
gentleman in No. 13," it would have been a perfect blank to me. 
I should have thought nothing of it ; but " The stout gentleman I" 
— the very name had something in it of the picturesque. It at 
once gave the size ; it embodied the personage to my mind's eye, 
and my fancy did the rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in all probability, 
therefore, he was advanced in life, some people expanding as they 
grow old. By his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, 
he must be a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the 
necessity of early rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gen- 
tleman. 

There was another violent ringing. The stout gentleman was 
impatient for his breakfast. He was evidently a man of impor- 
tance ; " well to do in the world ;" accustomed to be promptly 
waited upon ; of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry ; 
" perhaps," thought T, " he may be some London Alderman ; or 
who knows but he may be a Member of Parliament ?" 



84 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short interval of 
silence ; he was, doubtless, making the tea. Presently there was 
a violent ringing ; and before it could be answered, another ring- 
ing still more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gentle- 
man !" The waiter came down in a huff. The butter was rancid, 
the eggs were over-done, the ham was too salt : — the stout gentle- 
man was evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and 
growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state militant 
with the household. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should observe that she was 
a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a shrew, and something of 
a slammerkin, but very pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a 
husband, as shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants 
roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but 
said not a word against the stout gentleman ; by which I clearly 
perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled to make 
a noise and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, and 
ham, and bread and butter were sent up. They appeared to be 
more graciouslj received ; at least there was no further com- 
plaint. 

I had not made many turns about the traveler's-room, when 
there was another ringing. Shortly afterwards there was a stir 
and an inquest about the house. The stout gentleman wanted 
the Times or the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, there- 
fore, for a whig ; or rather, from his being so absolute and lordly 
where he had a chance, I suspected him of being a radical. Hunt, 
I had heard, was a large man ; " who knows," thought I, " but it 
is Hunt himself!" 

My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired of the waiter 
who was this stout gentleman that was making all this stir ; but 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 



I could get no information : nobody seemed to know his name. 
The landlords of bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about 
the names or occupations of their transient guests. The color of 
a coat, the shape or size of the person, is enough to suggest a 
traveling name. It is either the tall gentleman, or the short gen- 
tleman, or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- 
color ; or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman. A 
designation of the kind once hit on answers every purpose, and 
saves all further inquiry. 

Rain — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! No such thing as 
putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement 
within. By and by I heard some one walking over head. It 
was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large 
man by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man from his 
wearing such creaking soles. " He is doubtless," thought I, 
" some r]ch old square-toes of regular habits, and is now taking 
exercise after breakfast." 

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that 
were stuck about the mantel-piece. The Lady's Magazine had 
become an abomination to me ; it was as tedious as the day itself. 
I wandered out, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to 
my room. I had not been there long, when there was a squall 
from a neighboring bedroom. A door opened and slammed vio 
lently ; a chambermaid, that I had remarked for having a ruddy, 
good-humored face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The 
stout gentleman had been rude to her ! 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a 
moment. This unknown personage could not be an old gentle- 
man ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so obstreperous to 
thambermaids. He could not be a young gentleman; for young 



86 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



gentlemen are not apt to inspire such indignation. He must be a 
middle-aged man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the 
girl would not have taken the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I 
confess I was sorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I caught 
a glance of her as she came tramping up stairs ; her face glowing, 
her cap flaring, her tongue wagging the whole way. " She'd 
have no such doings in her house, she'd w^arrant. If gentlemen 
did spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no servant 
maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their 
work, that's what she wouldn't." 

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and above all 
with pretty women, I slunk back into my room, and partly closed 
the door ; but my curiosity was too much excited not to listen. 
The landlady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and 
entei^ed it with a storm : the door closed after her. I heard her 
voice in high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it gra- 
dually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret ; then there was a 
laugh ; then I heard nothing more. 

After a little while my landlady came out with an odd smile 
on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As 
she went down stairs I heard the landlord ask her what was the 
matter ; she said, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I was 
more than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccountable 
personage, who could put a good-natured chambermaid in a pas- 
sion, and send away a termagant landlady in smiles. He could 
not be so old, nor cross, nor ugly either. 

I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint him 
entirely different. I now set him down for one of those stout 
gentlemen that are frequently met with swaggering about the > 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 87 



doors of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher hand- 
kerchiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. Men 
who have seen the world, and been sworn at Highgate ; who are 
used to tavern life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing 
'n the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small s^iale ; 
who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea ; who call all 
the waiters by name, touzle the maids, gossip with the landlady 
at the bar, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after 
dinner. 

The morning wore away in forming these and similar sur- 
mises. As fast as I wove one system of belief, some movement 
of the unknown would completely overturn it, and throw all 
my thoughts again into confusion. Such are the solitary opera- 
tions of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely ner- 
vous ; and the continual meditation on the concerns of this invisi- 
ble personage began to have its effect : — I was getting a fit of the 
fidgets. 

Dinner-time came. I hoped the stout gentleman might dine 
in the travelers'-room, and that I might at length get a view of 
his person ; but no — he had dinner served in his own room. 
What could be the meaning of this solitude and mystery ? He 
could not be a radical ; there was something too aristocratical in 
thus keeping himself apart from the rest of the world, and con- 
demning himself to his own dull company throughout a rainy day. 
And then, too, he lived too well for a discontented politician. He 
seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his 
wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this 
head were soon at an end ; for he could not have finished his first 
bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on 
listening, I found it to be " God save the King." 'Twas plain, 



88 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject ; one who grew 
loyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king and consti- 
tution, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could he 
be ! My conjectures began to run wild. Was he not some per- 
sonage of distinction traveling incog. ? '* Gk>d knows !" said I, at 
my wit's end ; " it may be one of the royal family for aught I 
know, for they are all stout gentlemen !" 

The weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept 
his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear 
him move. In the meantime, as the day advanced, the travelers - 
room began to be frequented. Some, who had just arrived, came 
in buttoned up in box-coats ; others came home who had been 
dispersed about the town. Some took their dinners, and some 
their tea. Had I been in a different mood, I should have found 
entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men. There were 
two especially, who were regular wags of the road, and up to all 
the standing jokes of travelers. They had a thousand sly things 
to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethe- 
linda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every 
time, and chuckling amazingly at their own waggery. My mind, 
however, had become completely engrossed by the stout gentle- 
man. He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it 
was not now to be diverted from the scent. 

The evening gradually wore away. The travelers read the 
papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and 
told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their 
overturns, and breakings down. They discussed the credit of 
different merchants and different inns ; and the two wags told 
several choice anecdotes of pretty chambermaids, and kind land- 
ladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 89 



called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and 
water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; after which 
they one after another rang for " Boots " and the chambermaid, 
and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvelously 
uncomfortable slippers. 

There was now only one man left ; a short-legged, long-bodied, 
plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by him- 
self, with a glass of port wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and 
stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the 
spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with 
the empty glass standing before him ; and the candle seemed to 
fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged 
at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the 
chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around 
hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of departed 
travelers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the 
ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleep- 
ing topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop — drop — drop, from 
the eaves of the house. The church bells chimed midnight. All 
at once the stout gentleman began to walk over head, pacing 
slowly backwards and forwards. There was something extremely 
awful in all this, especially to one in my state of nerves. These 
ghastly great-coats, these guttural breathings, and the creaking 
footsteps of this mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and 
fainter, and at length died away. 1 could bear it no longer. I 
was wound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be he 
who or what he may," said I to myself, " I'll have a sight of 
him!" I seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to No. 13 
The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered : the room was 
ieserted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed elbow-chair at a 



90 B^RACEBRIDGE HALL. 



table, on which was an empty tnmbler, and a "Times" newspa- 
per, and the room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. 

The mysterious stranger had evidently but just retired. I 
turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, which had been 
changed to the front of the house. As I went along the corridor, 
I saw a large pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at 
the door of a bedchamber. They doubtless belonged to the 
unknown ; but it would not do to disturb so redoubtable a person- 
age in his den ; he might discharge a pistol, or something worse, 
at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half the 
night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when I fell asleep, I 
"was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stout gentleman 
and his wax-topped boots. 

I slept rather late the next morning, and was awakened by 
some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not at first 
comprehend ; until getting more awake, I found there was a mail 
coach starting from the door. Suddenly there was a cry from 
below, "The gentleman has forgot his umbrella! look for the 
gentleman's umbrella in 'No. 13 !" I heard an immediate scam- 
pering of a chambermaid along the passage, and a shrill reply as 
she ran, " Here it is ! here's the gentleman's umbrella !" 

The mysterious stranger then was on the point of setting off. 
This was the only chance I should ever have of knowing him. I 
sprang out of bed, scrambled to the window, snatched aside the 
curtains, and just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person getting 
in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coat parted behind, 
and gave me a full view of the broad disk of a pair of drab 
breeches. The door closed — "all right!" was the word — the 
coach whirled off: — and that was all 1 ever saw of the stout 
gentleman ! 



FOREST TREES. 

" A living gallery of aged trees." 

One of the favorite themes of boasting with the Squire is the 
noble trees on his estate, which, in truth, has some of the finest I 
have seen in England. There is something august and solemn in 
the great avenues of stately oaks that gather their branches toge- 
ther high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians beneath 
them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaks or elms," the Squire 
observes, "is the true colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's 
house. As to stone and marble, any one can rear them at once, 
they are the work of the day ; but commend me to the colonnades 
which have grown old and great with the family, and tell by their 
grandeur how long the family has endured." 

The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable trees, 
gray v/ith moss, which he considers as the ancient nobility of his 
domain. There is the ruin of an enormous oak, which has been 
so much battered by time and tempest, that scarce any thing is 
left ; though he says Christy recollects when, in his boyhood, it 
was healthy and flourishing, until it was struck by lightning. It 
is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the 
air, leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy wreck 
is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it his standard-bearer, and 
compares it to a veteran warrior beaten down in battle, but bear 



92 BRACEBRIDGR HALL. 



ing up his banner to the last. He has actually had a fence built 
round it, to protect it as much as possible from further injury. 

It is with great difficulty he can ever be brought to have any 
tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as 
having been planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind of 
paternal affi^ctioujas having been planted by himself ; and he feels 
a degree of awe in bringing down, with a few strokes of the axe, 
what it has cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sym- 
pathize, in some degree, with the good Squire on the subject. 
Though brought up in a country overrun with forests, where trees 
are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, and to be laid low 
without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a fine tree 
hewn down without concern. The poets, who are naturally lovers 
of trees, as they are of every thing that is beautiful, have artfully 
awakened great interest in their favor, by representing them as 
the habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great tree 
had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to 
its duration. Evelyn, in his Sylva, makes several pleasing and 
fanciful allusions to this superstition. "As the fall," says he, 
" of a very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, has often 
been heard at many miles distance ; constrained though I often 
am to fell them with reluctancy, I do not at any time remember 
to have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispos- 
sessed of their ancient habitations) without some emotion and 
pity." And again, in alluding to a violent storm that had devas- 
tated the woodlands, he says, " Methinks I still hear, sure I am 
that I still feel, the dismal groans of our forests ; the late dread- 
ful hurricane having subverted so many thousands of goodly oaks, 
prostrating the trees, laying them in ghastly postures, like whole 
regiments fallen in battle by the sword of the conqueror, and 



FOREST TREES. 93 

crushing all that grew beneath them. The public accounts/* he 
adds, " reckon no less than three thousand hrave oaks in one part 
only of the forest of Dean blown down." 

I have paused more than once in the wilderness of America, 
to contemplate the traces of some blast of wind, which seemed to 
have rushed down from the clouds, and ripped its way through 
the bosom of the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, and splinter- 
ing the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track of desolation. 
There was something awful in the vast havoc made among these 
gigantic plants ; and in considering their magnificent remains, so 
rudely torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish prematurely 
on their native soil, I was conscious of a strong movement of the 
sympathy so feelingly expressed by Evelyn. I recollect, also, 
hearing a traveler of poetical temperament expressing the kind 
of horror which he felt on beholding, on the banks of the Mis- 
souri, an oak of prodigious size, which had been, in a manner, 
overpowered by an enormous wild grape-vine. The vine had 
clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had wound 
about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had withered 
in its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually 
in the hideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of 
trees perishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. 

I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gentle- 
men on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discri- 
mination, and what strong, unaffected interest they w^ill discuss 
topics, which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen, 
or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant on park 
and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He 
dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate, 
with as much pride and technical precision as though he had been 



94 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he 
had even gone considerable distances to examine trees, which were 
celebrated among rural amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like 
horses, have their established points of excellence ; and that there 
are some in England which enjoy very extensive celebrity among 
tree-fanciers from being perfect in their kind. 

There is something nobly simple and pure in a such a taste : 
it argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this strong 
relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the 
hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of 
thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I 
may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is 
worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who 
plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for poste- 
rity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to 
sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea, 
that the acorn which he has buried in the earth will grow up into 
a lofty pile, and keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefit- 
ing mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his pater- 
nal fields. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the 
thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said 
to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a 
purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all 
sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- 
thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland 
scenery that enters into the soul; and dilates and elevates it, and fills 
?t with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, 
which embower this island, are most of them full of story. They 
are haunted by the recollections of great spirits of past ages, who 
have sought for relaxation among them from the tumult of arms, 



FOREST TREES. 95 



or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. 
Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of 
Fenshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant Sir Philip 
Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look without fondness upon the 
tree that is said to have been planted on his birthday ; i>r can 
ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley ; or can pause among 
the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, 
huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel 
as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduring 
glory ? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and 
stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the 
more luxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. It is then they teem 
with moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of 
human existence. 

It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits of an 
ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves which surround 
their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descend- 
ants. Republican as I am by birth, and brought up as I have 
been in republican principles and habits, I can feel nothing of the 
servile reverence for titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but 
I trust that I am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both 
see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of 
a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is 
one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, 
that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the exist- 
ence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a mere individual 
link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. 
He carries back his existence in proud recollection, and he ex 
tends it forward in honorable anticipation. He lives with his 
ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both does he con- 



96 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

sider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has re- 
ceived much from those who have gone before, so he feels bound 
to transmit much to those who are to come after him. His do- 
mestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those 
of ordinary men ; none are so apt to build and plant for future 
centuries, as those noble-spirited men, who have received their 
heritages from foregone ages. 

I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride with 
which I have noticed English gentlemen, of generous tempera- 
ments, and high aristocratic feelings, contemplating those magnifi- 
cent trees, rising like towers and pyramids, from the midst of 
their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all nature, 
animate and inanimate : the oak, in the pride and lustihood of its 
growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, 
and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and 
intellectual man. With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct 
towards heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities 
of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sun- 
shine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should he ; a 
refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the 
defenceless ; warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or 
the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is tliis^ is an 
ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise, 
abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the grandeur and pros- 
perity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country 
Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who 
would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the 
oppressive hand of power, who would murmur at his fate ? — 
" Why cumbereth he the ground ?" 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 

Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter ago ; but a manuscript he pores oa 
everlastingly ; especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis be- 
tweene every syllable. 

MICO-COSMOGRAPHIK, 1628. 

The Squire receives great sympathy and support, in his anti- 
quated humors, from the parson, of whom I made some mention 
on my former visit to the Hall, and who acts as a kind of family 
chaplain. He has been cherished by the Squire almost constantly 
since the time that they were fellow-students at Oxford ; for it is 
one of the peculiar advantages of these great universities, that 
they often link the poor scholar to the rich patron, by early and 
heart-felt ties, which last through life, without the usual humilia- 
tions of dependence and patronage. Under the fostering protec- 
tion of the Squire, therefore, the little parson has pursued his 
studies in peace. Having lived almost entirely among books, and 
those, too, old books, he is quite ignorant of the world, and his 
mind is as antiquated as the garden at the Hall, where the flow- 
ers are all arranged in formal beds, and the yew-trees clipped into 
urns and peacocks. 

His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in the Bod- 
leian Library at Oxford; where, when a student,he passed many 
an hour foraging among the old manuscripts. He has since, at 
different times, visited most of the curious libraries in England, 

5 



98 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



and has ransacked many of the cathedrals. With all his quaint 
and curious learning, he has nothing of arrogance or pedantry ; 
but that unaffected earnestness and guileless simplicity ^vhich seem 
to belong to the literary antiquary. 

He is a aark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his man- 
ner ; yet, on his favorite theme, he kindles up, and at times is 
even eloquent. Xo fox-hunter, recounting his last day's sport, 
could be more animated than I have seen the worthy parson, 
when relating his search after a curious document, which he had 
traced from library to library, until he fairly unearthed it in the 
dusty chapter-house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes 
some venerable manuscript, with its rich illuminations, its thick 
creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the odor of the cloisters that 
seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm of a Parisian 
epicure, expatiating on the merits of a Perigord pie, or a Pat^ 
de Strasbourg. 

His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick dreams 
about gorgeous old works in " silk linings, triple gold bands, and 
tinted leather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vul- 
gar hands of the mere reader ;" and, to continue the happy ex- 
pressions of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyes like eastern 
beauties, peering through their jealousies."* 

He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the old 
libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong ; for he thinks 
a black-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable cham- 
bers where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and 
painted glass ; and that it loses half its zest if taken away from 
the neighborhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and 
Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion the Squire has had the 

* D'Israeli. Cnriosities of Literature. 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 99 

library furnished in this antique taste, and several of the windows 
glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a properly tem- 
pered light upon the pages of their favorite old authors. 

The parson, I am told, has been for some time meditating a 
commentary on Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in which he means to 
detect them in sundry dangerous errors in respect to popular 
games and superstitions ; a work to which the Squire looks for- 
ward with great interest. He is, also, a casual contributor to that 
long-established repository of national customs and antiquities, 
the Gentleman's Magazine, and is one of those who every now 
and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete custom or 
rare legend ; nay, it is said that some of his communications have 
been at least six inches in length. He frequently receives par- 
cels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing 
mouldy volumes and almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singu- 
lar what an active correspondence is kept up among literary anti- 
quaries, and how soon the fame of any rare volume, or unique 
copy, just discovered among the rubbish of a library, is circulated 
among them. The parson is more busy than common just now, 
being a little flurried by an advertisement of a work, said to be 
preparing for the press, on the mythology of the middle ages. 
The little man has long been gathering together all the hobgoblin 
tales he could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of former 
times ; and he is in a complete fever, lest this formidable rival 
should take the field before him. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the parsonage, 
in company with Mr. Bracebridge and the general. The parson 
had not been seen for several days, which was a matter of some 
surprise, as he was an almost daily visiter at the Hall. We 
found him in his study ; a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lat- 



100 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



tice-window that looked into the church-yard, and was overshad- 
owed by a yew-tree. His chair was surrounded by folios and 
quartos, piled upon the floor, and his table was covered with books 
and manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion was a workVhich 
he had recently received, and with which he had retired in rap- 
ture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy a literaif^ hon 
ey-moon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour -the 
pages of a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous ro- 
mance, with more intense delight than did the little man banquet 
on the pages of this delicious work. It was Dibdin's Bibliographi- 
cal Tour ; a work calculated to have as intoxicating an effect on 
the imaginations of literary antiquaries, as the adventures of the 
heroes of the round-table, on all true knights ; or the tales of the 
early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of the age, filling 
them with dreams of Mexican and Peruvian mines, and of the 
golden realm of^ El Dorado. 

The good parson had looked forward to this bibliographical 
expedition as of far greater importance than those to Africa, or 
the North Pole. With what eagerness had he seized upon the 
history of the enterprise ! with what interest had he followed 
the redoubtable bibliographer and his graphical squire in their 
adventurous roamings among Norman castles, and cathedrals, 
and French libraries, and German convents and universities ; 
penetrating into the prison-houses of vellum manuscripts, and 
exquisitely illuminated missals, and revealing their beauties to 
the world ! 

When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on this 
most curious and entertaining work, he drew forth from a 
little drawer a manuscript, lately received from a correspondent, 
which had perplexed him sadly. It was written in Norman 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 101 



French, in very ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered 
away as to be ahuost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman 
drinking song, which might have been brought over by one of 
William the Conqueror's carousing followers. The writing was 
just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity -hunter on a doubtful 
chase ; here and there he w^ould be completely thrown out, and 
then there would be a few w^ords so plainly written as to put him 
on the scent again. In this w^ay he had been led on for a whole 
day, until he had found himself completely at fault. 

The Squire endeavored to assist him, but was equally baffled. 
The old general listened for some time to the discussion, and then 
asked the parson, if he had rekd Captain Morris's, or George 
Stevens's, or Anacreon Moore's bacchanalian songs ; on the other 
replying in the negative, " Oh, then," said the general, with a 
sagacious nod, " if you want a drinking song, I can furnish you 
with the latest collection — I did not know you had a turn for 
those kind of things ; and I can lend you the Encyclopedia of 
Wit into the bargain. I never travel without them ; they're 
excellent reading at an inn." 

It would not be easy to describe the odd look of surprise and 
perplexity of the parson, at this proposal ; or the difficulty the 
Squire had in making the cfeneral comprehend, that thougli a 
jovial song of the present day was but a foolish sound in tlie ears 
of wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, yet a troAvl, 
written by a tosspot several hundred years since, was a matter 
worthy of the gravest research, and enough to set Avhole colleges 
by the ears. 

I have since pondered much on this matter, and have figured 
to myself what may be the fate of our current literature, when 
retrieved, piecemeal, bv future antiquaries, from among the rub- 



102 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



bisb of ages. What a Magnus Apollo, for instance, will Moore 
become, among sober divines and dusty schoolmen ! Even his 
festive and amatory songs, which are now the mere quickeners 
of our social moments, or the delights of our drawing-rooms, will 
then become matters of laborious research and painful collation. 
How many a grave professor will then waste his midnight oil, or 
v,^orry his brain through a long morning, endeavoring to restore 
the pure text, or illustrate the biographical hints of " Come, tell 
me, says Rosa, as kissing and kissed ;" and how many an arid 
old bookworm, like the worthy little parson, will give up in 
despair, after vainly striving to fill up some fatal hiatus in. 
" Fanny of Timmol !" 

Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that are 
doomed to consume the oil of future antiquaries. Many a poor 
scribbler, who is now, apparently, sent to oblivion by pastry-cooks 
and cheesemongers, will then rise again in fragments, and flourish 
in learned immortality. 

After all, thought I, time is not such an invariable destroyer 
as he is represented. If he pulls down, he likewise builds up ; 
if he impoverishes one, he enriches another ; his very dilapida- 
tions furnish matter for new works of controversy, and his rust is 
more precious than the most costly gilding. Under his plastic 
hand trifles rise into importance ; the nonsense of one age 
becomes the wisdom of another ; the levity of the wit gravitates 
into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing moulders 
into infinitely more value than a modern guinea. 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 



- Love and hay 



Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 



I WAS SO much pleased with the anecdotes which were told me 
of Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, a day 
or two since, to take me to his house. It was an old-fashioned 
farm-house, built of brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It 
stood at a little distance from the road, with a southern exposure, 
looking upon a soft, green slope of meadow. There was a small 
garden in front, with a row of beehives humming among beds of 
sweet herbs and flowers. Well-scoured milking-tubs, with bright 
copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit trees were 
trained up against the cottage, and pots of flowers stood in the 
windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the sunshine at 
the door ; with a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. 

Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our calling, but we 
were received with hearty and homely welcome by his wife ; a 
notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives; 
since, according to Master Simon's account, she never contradicts 
honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, and to con- 
trol him in every thing. 

She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of 



104 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



parlor and hall, with great brown beams of timber across it, which 
Mr. Tibbets is apt to point out with some exultation, observing, 
that they don't put such timber in houses now-a-days. The fur- 
niture was old fashioned, strong, and highly polished ; the walk 
were hung with colored prints of the story of the Prodigal Son 
who was represented in a red coat and leather breeches. Ovei 
the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard-favored likeness of 
Ready-Money Jack, taken, when he was a young man, by the 
same artist that painted the tavern sign ; his mother having taken 
a notion that the Tibbets had as much right to have a gallery of 
family portraits as the folks at the Hall. 

The good dame pressed us yerj much to take some refresh- 
ment, and tempted us with a variety of household dainties, so that 
we were glad to compound by tasting some of her home-made 
wines. While we were there, the son and heir-apparent came 
home ; a good-looking young fellow, and something of a rustic 
beau. He took us over the premises, and showed us the whole 
establishment. An air of homely but substantial plenty pre- 
vailed throughout ; every thing was of the best materials, and 
in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; 
and you saw every where the signs of a man who took care to 
have the worth of his money, and paid as he went. 

The farm-yard was well-stocked ; under a shed was a taxed 
cart, in trim order, in which Ready-Money Jack took his wife 
about the country. His well-fed horse neighed from the stable, 
and when led out into the yard, to use the words of young Jack, 
" he shone like a bottle ;" for he said the old man made it^ a rule 
that every thing about him should fare as well as he did himself. 

I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow seemed 
to have of his father. He gave us several particulars concerning 



rHE FARM-HOUSE. lOi- 



his habits, which were pretty much to the effect of those I have 
already mentioned. He had never suffered an account to stand 
in his life, always providing the money before he purchased any 
thing; and, if possible, paying in gold and silver. He had a 
great dislike to paper money, and seldom went without a consid- 
erable sum in gold about him. On my observing that it was a 
wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, the young fellow 
smiled at the idea of any one venturing upon such an exploit, for 
I believe he thinks the old man Avould be a match for Robin 
Hood and all his gang. 

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house 
without having a world of private talk with some one or other 
of the family, being a kind of universal counselor and confidant. 
We had not been long at the farm, before the old dame got him 
into a corner of her parlor, where they had a long, whispering 
conference together ; in which I saw by his shrugs that there 
were some dubious matters discussed, and by his nods that he 
agreed with every thing she said. 

After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a 
little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a 
green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half an 
hour. Master Simon, who has the usual propensity of confidants 
to blab every thing to the next friend they meet with, let me 
know that there was a love affair in question ; the young fellow 
having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the 
pretty niece cf the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most other 
love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities. Dame 
Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the 
housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house ; but when the 
neighbors spoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her 

5* 



106 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



son and Phoabe Wilkins, " Marry come up !" she scouted the very 
idea. The girl had acted as lady's maid, and it was beneath the 
blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands time out 
of rnind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the 
heir-apparent marry a servant ! 

These vaporings had faithfully been carried to the housekeep- 
er's ear, by one of their mutual, go-between friends. The old 
housekeeper's blood, if not as an ancient, was as quick as that of 
Dame Tibbets. She had been accustomed to carry a high head 
at the Hall, and among the villagers ; and her faded brocade rus- 
tled with indignation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the 
wife of a petty farmer. She maintained that her niece had been 
a companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies. 
" Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work for her living, and 
was as idle as any young lady in the land ; and when somebody 
died, would receive something that would be worth the notice of 
some folks, with all their ready money." 

A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy 
dames, and the young people were forbidden to think of one ano- 
ther. As to young Jack, he was too much in love to reason upon 
the matter ; and being a little heady, and not standing in much 
awe of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the 
Tibbets to his passion. He had lately, however, had a violent 
quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on her 
part, and at present stood aloof. The politic mother was exerting 
all her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach ; but, as is most 
commonly the case, the more she meddled with this perverse incli- 
nation of her son, the stronger it grew. In the meantime Old 
Ready-Money was kept completely in the dark ; both parties were 
in awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of taking the 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 107 



matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father 
and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, 
and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great danger of honest 
Eeadj-Money's finding the thing out, if left to himself, for he was 
of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of appre- 
hension ; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused 
by those cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually 
spinning about his nose. 

Such is the distracted state of politics in the domestic empire 
of E-eady-Money Jack ; which only shows the intrigues and inter- 
nal dangers to which the best regulated governments are liable. 
In this perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother and son 
have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his ex- 
perience in meddling with other people's concerns, he finds it an 
exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, see- 
ing that their opinions and wishes are sc diametrically opposite. 



HORSEMANSHIP. 



A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one i wt both horse and raaa 
into amazement. Some said it was a great crabshell brought out of China, and some imagined 
it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the divell. 

Taylor, the water poet. 



I HA.VE made casual mention, more tlian once, of one of the 
Squire's antiquated retainers, old Christy the huntsman. I find 
that his crabbed humor is a source of much entertainment amono; 
the young men of the family ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a 
mischievous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man 
against the grain, and then smoothing him down again ; for the 
old fellow is as ready to bristle up his back as a porcupine. He 
rides a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of 
himself, a heady, cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its 
bones ; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. He 
is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, who has ridden him time 
out of mind, and is, indeed, the only one that can do any thing 
with him. Sometimes, however, they have a complete quarrel, 
and a dispute for mastery, and then, I am told, it is as good as a 
farce to see the heat they both get into, and the wrong-headed 
contest that ensues ; for they are quite knowing in each other's 
ways, and in the art of teasing and fretting each other. Notwith- 
standing these doughty brawls, however, there is nothing that net- 



110 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



ties old Christy sooner than to question the merits of hib -lorse 
which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful husband will vindi- 
cate the virtues of the termagant spouse, that gives him a curtain 
lecture every night of his life. 

The young men call old Christy their " professor of equita- 
tion," and in aceciunting for the appellation, they let me into some 
particulars of the Squire's mode of bringing up his children. 
There is an odd mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the 
opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, 
where plain brick-work is set oif with pointed arches and quaint 
tracery. Though the main ground-work of his opinions is correct, 
yet he has a thousand little notions, picked up from old books, 
which stand out whimsically on the surface of his mind. 

Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, Markam, and 
such like old English writers, for his manuals. At an early age 
he took the lads out of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as 
mothers are apt to be, to make fine, orderly children of them, that 
should keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nor 
tear their clothes. 

In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to run free and 
wild about the park, without heeding wind or weather. He was, 
also, particularly attentive in making them bold and expert horse- 
men ; and these were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, 
enjoyed great importance, as the lads were put under his care to 
practise them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them 
m the chase. 

The Squire always objected to their riding in carriages of any 
kind, and is still a little tenacious on this point. He often rails 
against the universal use of carriages, and quotes the words of 
honest Nashe to that effect. " It was thought," says Nashe, in his 



4 



HORSEMANSHIP. m 



Quaternio, " a kind of solecism, and to savor of effeminacy, for 
a young gentleman in the flourishing time of his age to creep into 
a coach, and to shrowd himself from wind and weather : our great 
delight was to outbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse ; 
to arm and prepare ourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into 
the field was our sport and pastime ; coaches and caroches we left 
unto them for whom they were first invented, for ladies and gen- 
tlemen, and decrepit age and impotent people." 

The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much 
of their hardiness and manhood since the introduction ef carriages. 
" Compare," he will say, " the fine gentleman of former times, 
ever on horseback, booted and spurred, and travel-stained, but 
open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the fine gentleman of the 
present day, full of affectation and effeminacy, roiling along a 
turnpike in his voluptuous vehicle. The young men of those days 
were rendered brave, and lofty, and generous in their notions, by 
almost living in their saddles, and having their foaming steeds 
' like proud seas under them.' There is something," he adds, " in 
bestriding a fine horse that makes a man feel more than mortal. 
He seems to have doubled his nature, and to have added to his 
own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, and stateliness of 
the superb animal on which he is mounted." 

" It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a young gen- 
tleman with his skill and cunning, by his voice, rod, and spur, bet- 
ter to manage and to command the great Bucephalus, than the 
strongest Milo, with all his strength ; one while to see him make 
him tread, trot and gallop the ring ; and one after to see him make 
him gather up roundly ; to bear his head steadily ; to run a full 
career swiftly ; to stop a sudden lightly : anon after to see him 
make him advance, to yorke), to go back, and side long, to turn on 



112 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



either hand ; to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do the capriole, the 
chambetta, and dance the curvetty." 

In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them all on 
horseback at an early age, and made them ride, slap dash, about 
the country, without flinching at hedge, or ditch, or stone-wall, to 
the imminent danger of their necks. 

Even the fair Julia was partially included in this system ; 
and, under the instructions of old Christy, has become one of the 
best horsewomen in the county. The Squire says it is better than 
all the cosmetics and sweeteners of the breath that ever were 
invented. He extols the horsemanship of the ladies in former 
times, when Queen Elizabeth would scarcely suffer the rain to 
stop her accustomed^ide. " And then think," he will say, " what 
nobler and sweeter beings it made them. What a difference must 
there be, both in mind and body, between a joyous high-spirited 
dame of those days, glowing with health and exercise, freshened 
by every breeze, seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with 
plume on head, and hawk on hand, and her descendant of the 
present day, the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, sunk lan- 
guidly in one corner of an enervating carriage." 

The Squire's equestrian system has been attended with great 
success, for his sons, having passed through the whole course of 
instruction without breaking neck or limb, are now healthful, spir- 
ited, and active, and have the true Englishman's love for a horse. 
If their manliness and frankness are praised in their father's hear- 
ing, he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they have been 
taught " to ride, to shoot, and to speak the truth." 

It is true the Oxonian has now and then practised the old 
gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreme. He is a gay young- 
ster, rather fonder of his horse than his book, with a little dash 



1 



HORSEMANSHIP. 113 



of the dandy ; though the ladies all declare that he is " the flower 
of the flock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he had 
a tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry chip of the university. 
When he returned home in the vacation, the Squire made many 
inquiries about how he liked his college, his studies, and his 
tutor. 

" Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with him some time 
since." 

" You have ; and, pray, why so ?" 

" Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I was a 
little short of funds ; so I discharged my tutor, and took a horse, 
you know." 

" Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the Squire, mildly. 

When Tom returned to college his allowance was doubled^ 
that he might be enabled to keep both horse and tutor. 



LOYE SYMPTOMS. 

I will now beffin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently in lovs. 

Marston. 

I SHOULD not be surprised if we should have another pair of 
turtles at the Hall ; for Master Simon has informed me, in great 
confidencoj that he suspects the general of some design upon the 
susceptible heart of Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed* a 
growing attention and courtesy in the veteran towards her lady- 
ship ; he softens very much in her company, sits by her at table, 
and entertains her with long stories about Seringapatam^ and 
pleasant anecdotes of the Mulligatawney club. I have even seen 
him present her with a full-blown rose from the hot-house, in a 
style of the most captivating gallantry, and it was accepted with 
great suavity and graciousness ; for her ladyship delights in re- 
ceiving the homage and attention of the sex. 

Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers that dan- 
gled in her train during her short reign of beauty ; and they 
flirted together for half a season in London, some thirty or forty 
years since. She reminded him lately, in the course of a con- 
v^ersation about former days, of the time when he used to ride a 
white horse, and to canter so gallantly by the side of her carriage 
in Hyde Park ; whereupon I have remarked that the veteran has 
regularly escorted her since, when she rides out on horseback ; 
and, I suspect, he almost persuades himself that he makes as cap- 
tivating an appearance as in his youthful days. 



116 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



It would be an interesting and memorable circumstance in the 
chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the tender passion, after 
lying dormant for such a length of time, should again be fanned 
into a flame, from amidst the ashes of two burnt-out hearts. It 
would be an instance of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being 
placed beside those recorded in one of the Squire's favorite tomes, 
commemorating the constancy of the olden times ; in which times, 
we are told, "Men and wymmen coulde love togyders seven 
yeres, and no licours lustes were betwene them, and thenne was 
love, trouthe, and feythfulnes ; and lo in lyke wyse was used love 
in Kyng Arthurs dayes."* 

Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable flir- 
tation, the general being a veteran dangler, and the good lady 
habituated to these kind ol attentions. Master Simon, on the 
other hand, thinks the general is looking about him with the wary 
eye of an old campaigner ; and now that he is on the wane, is 
desirous of getting into warm winter quarters. Much allow^ance, 
however, must be made for Master Simon's uneasiness on the 
subject, for he looks on Lady Lilly craft's house as one of his 
strong-holds, w4iere he is lord of the ascendant ; and, with all his 
admiration of the general, I much doubt whether he vrould like 
to see him lord of the lady and the establishment. 

There are certain other symptoms, notwithstanding, that give 
an air of probability to Master Simon's intimations. Thus, for 
instance, I have observed that the general has been very assidu- 
ous in his attentions to her ladyship's dogs, and has several times 
exposed his fingers to imminent jeopardy, in attempting to pat 
Beauty on the head. It is to be hoped his advances to the mis- 
tress will be more favorably received, as all his overtures towards 

** Morte d'Arthur. 



^ 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 117 



a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a wary kin- 
dling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. 

He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my lady's 
gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom he used to 
speak of in a way that I do not choose to mention. Whether she 
has the same suspicions with Master Simon or not, I cannot say ; but 
Sxie receives his civilities with no better grace than the implacable 
Beauty ; unscrewing her mouth into a most acid smile, and look- 
ing as though she could bite a piece out of him. In short, the 
poor general seems to have as formidable foes to contend with as 
a hero of ancient fairy tale ; who had to fight his way to his en- 
chanted princess through ferocious monsters of every kind, and 
to encounter the brimstone terrors of some fiery dragon. 

There is still another circumstance which inclines me to give 
very considerable credit to Master Simon's suspicions. Lady 
Lillycraft is very fond of quoting poetry, and the conversation 
often turns upon it, on which occasions the general is thrown com- 
pletely out. It happened the other day that Spenser's Fairy 
Queen was the theme for the great part of the morning, and the 
poor gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him not long after 
in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand, and 
fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, slipt the spectacles into 
his pocket, and began to read very attentively. After a little 
while he put a paper in the place, and laid the volume aside, 
which I perceived was the Fairy Queen. I have had the curi- 
osity to watch how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though 
I have repeatedly seen him wi h the book in his hand, yet I find 
the paper has not advanced aoove three or four pages ; the gen- 
eral being extremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. 



FALCONRY. 



Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, 
Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, 

But I the measure of her flight doe search. 
And all her prey and all her diet know. 

Spenser. 



There are several grand sources of lamentation furnished to the 
worthy Squire, by the improvement of society, and the grievous 
advancement of knowledge ; among which none, I believe, causes 
him more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gun- 
powder. To this he continually traces the decay of some favorite 
custom, and, indeed, the general dow^nfall of all chivalrous and 
romantic usages. '' English soldiers," he says, " have never been 
the men they w^ere in the days of the cross-bow and the long- 
bow ; when they depended upon the strength of the arm, and the 
English archer could draw a cloth-yard shaft to the head. These 
were the times when, at the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agin- 
court, the French chivalry was completely destroyed by the bow- 
men of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what 
they were, when, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised 
with the bow, and archery was a favorite holiday pastime." 

Among the other evils which have followed in the train of 
this fatal invention of gunpowder, the Squire classes the total 
decline of the noble art of falconry. " Shooting," he says, " is a 



120 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. 



skulking, treacherous, solitary sport in comparison ; but hawking 
was a gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; it was the generous 
sport of hunting carried into the skies." 

" It was, moreover," he says, " according to Braithwate, the 
stately amusement of "' high and mounting spirits ;' for, as the old 
Welsh proverb affirms, in those times ' you might know a gentle- 
man by his hawk, horse, and greyhound.' Indeed, a cavalier was 
seldom seen abroad Avithout his hawk on his fist ; and even a lady 
of rank did not think herself completely equipped, in riding forth, 
unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate 
hand. It was thought in those excellent days, according to an 
old writer, ^ quite sufficient for noblemen to winde their horn, and 
to carry their hawke fair ; and leave study and learning to the 
children of mean people.' " 

Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I have not been 
surprised at finding that, among the various recreations of former 
times which he has endeavored to revive in the little world in 
which he rules, he has bestowed great attention on the noble art 
of falconry. In this he^ of course, has been seconded by his inde- 
fatigable coadjutor. Master Simon ; and even the parson has 
thrown considerable light on their labors, by various hints on the 
subject, which he has met with in old English works. As to the 
precious work of that famous dame, Juliana Barnes ; the Gentle- 
man's Academic, by Markham ; and the other well-known trea- 
tises that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them 
at their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially studied 
some old tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a party 
of cavaliers and stately dames, with doublets, caps, and flauntmg 
feathers, mounted on horse, with attendants on foot, all in ani- 
mated pursuit of the game. 



FALCONRY. 121 



The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in 
his neighborhood, but gives a liberal bounty for all that are 
brought him alive ; so that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds 
of birds of prey. On these he and Master Simon have exhausted 
their patience and ingenuity, endeavoring to "reclaim" them, as 
it is termed, and to train them up for the sport ; but they have 
met with continual checks and disappointments. Their feathered 
school has turned out the most untractable and graceless schol- 
ars : nor is it the least of. their labor to drill the retainers who 
were to act as ushers under them, and to take immediate charge 
of these refractory birds. Old Christy and the gamekeeper both, 
for a time, set their faces against the whole plan of education ; 
Christy having been nettled at hearing what he terms a wild- 
goose chase put on a par with a fox-hunt ; and the gamekeeper 
having always been accustomed to look upon hawks as arrant 
poachers, which it was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in terro- 
rem, against the out-houses. 

Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, but has 
done still more mischief by his intermeddling. He is as positive 
and wrong-headed about this, as he is about hunting. Master 
Simon has continual disputes with him as to feeding and training 
-he hawks. He reads to him long passages from the old authors 
I have mentioned ; but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign 
contempt for all book-knowledge, and persists in treating the 
hawks according to his own notions, which are drawn from his 
experience, in younger days, in the rearing of game-cocks. 

m The consequence is, that, between these jarring systems, the 
poor birds have had a most trying and unhappy time of it. Many 
have fallen victims to Christy's feeding and Master Simon's phy- 
sicking ; for the latter has gone to work secundem artem, and has 

6 



122 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



given them all the vomitings and scourings laid down in the 
books ; never were poor hawks so fed and physicked before. 
Others have been lost by being but half " reclaimed," or tamed : 
for on being taken into the field, they have " raked " after the 
game quite out of hearing of the call, and never returned to 
school. 

All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore griev- 
ances to the Squire, and had made him to despond about success. 
He has lately, however, been made happy by the receipt of a fine . 
Welsh falcon, which Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. It 
is a present from the Squire's friend. Sir Watkyn Williams 
Wynne ; and is, no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of 
Welsh princes of the air, that have long lorded it over their 
kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very summit of Snow- 
den, or the brow of Penmanmawr. 

Ever since the Squire received this invaluable present, he has 
been as impatient to sally forth and make proof of it, as was Don 11 
Quixote to assay his suit of armor. There have been some 
demurs as to whether the bird was in proper health and training; 
but these have been overruled by the vehement desire to play 
with a new toy ; and it has been determined, right or wrong, in 
season or out of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to- 
morrow. 

The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about to make 
some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with the thing. Miss 
Templeton, who is brought up in reverence for all her guardian's 
humors, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has 
talked also of riding out to the scene of action and looking on. 
This has gratified the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it as an 
auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, and does not despair 



FALCONRY. 123 



but the time will come when it will be again the pride of a fine 
lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a 
lap-dog. 

T have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that 
busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he re- 
ceives from that genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They 
have had half a dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be 
prepared for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has 
always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably 
given up the point, observing, in a good-humored tone, " Well, 
well, have it your own way, Christy ; only don't put yourself in 
a passion ;" a reply which always nettles the old man ten times . 
more th&n ever. 



HAWKING. 



The soaring -hawk, from fist that fliea, 

Her falconer doth constrain 
Sometimes to range the ground abont 

To find her out again ; 
And if by sight, or sound of bell, 

His falcon he may see, 
Wo ho ! he cries, with cheerful voice — 

The gladdest man is he. 

Handfull of Pleasant Delites. 



At an early hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, pre- 
paring for the sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling 
and singing under my window at sunrise, as he was preparing 
the jesses for the hawk's legs, and could distinguish now and then 
a stanza of one of his favorite old ditties : 

" In peascod time, when hound to horn 
Gives note that buck be kill'd ; 
And little boy with pipe of corn 
Is tending sheep a-field," &c. 

A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was served 
ap in the great hall. The whole garrison of retainers and hang- 
ers-on were in motion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the 
village. The horses were led up and down before the door; 



126 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



every body had something to say, and something to do, and hur- 
ried hither and thither ; there was a direful yelping of dogs ; some 
that were to accompany us being eager to set off, and others that 
were to stay at home being whipped back to their kennels. In 
short, for once, the good Squire's mansion might have been taken 
as a good specimen of one of the rantipole establishments of the 
good old feudal times. 

Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall prepared 
to take the field. The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting 
dress, with a light plume of feathers in her riding-hat. As she 
mounted her favorite galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that 
old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust her 
saddle and bridle. He touched his cap as she smiled on him 
and thanked him ; and then, looking round at the other attend- 
ants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and 
exultation at the charming appearance of his pupil. 

Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the sport. 
She was dressed in her broad white beaver, tied under the chin, 
and a riding habit of the last century. She rode her sleek, am- 
bling pony, whose motion was as easy as a rocking-chair, and 
was gallantly escorted by the general, who looked not unlike one 
of the doughty heroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. 
The parson, likewise, accompanied her on the other side ; for 
this was a learned amusement in which he took great interest ; 
and indeed, had given much counsel, from his knowledge of old 
customs. 

At length every thing was arranged, and off we set from the 
Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one in fine spirits ; and the 
scene was gay and animating. The young men of the family ac- 
companied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in 



HAWKING. 127 



her saddle, her plumes dancing and waving in the air ; and the 
group had a charming effect as they appeared and disappeared 
among the trees, cantering along, with the bounding animation of 
youth. The Squire and Master Simon rode together, accompa- 
nied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore the 
hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most accustomed to 
him. There was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers 
from the Hall, and some idlers from the village, with two or three 
spaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. 

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, com- 
posed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parson, and a 
fat footman. Her ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, 
while the general, mounted on a tall hunter, looked down upon 
her with an air of the most protecting gallantry. 

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, 
or rather lagged behind, that I might take in the whole picture ; 
and the parson occasionally slackened his pace and jogged on in 
company with me. 

The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a soft 
meadow, reeking with the moist verdure of spring. A little river 
ran through it, bordered by willows, which had put forth their 
tender early foliage. The sportsmen were in quest of herons 
which were said to keep about this stream. 

There was some disputing, already, among the leaders of the 
sport. The Squire, Master Simon, and old Christy, came every 
now and then to a pause, to consult together, like the field-officers 
in an army ; and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that 
Christy was as positive as any old wrong-headed German com- 
mander. 

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow every sound we^ 



128 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



made was answered by a distinct echo from the sunny wall of an 
old building on the opposite margin of the stream ; and I paused 
to listen to this " spirit of a sound," which seems to love such 
quiet and beautiful places. The parson informed me that this 
was the ruin of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the 
country people, to be haunted by a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, 
something like Robin Good-fellow. They often fancied the echo 
to be the voice of the dobbie answering them, and were rather 
shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the Squire was 
very careful of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected 
with it. As I considered this local habitation of an " airy no- 
thing," I called to mind the fine description of an echo in Web- 
ster's Duchess of Malfy : 

" Yond side o' th' river lies a wall. 



Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
Gives the best echo that you ever heard : 
So plain in the distinction of our words, 
That many have supposed it a spirit 
That answers." 

The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fanciful ap- 
pellation which the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they 
called Bath-kool, that is to say, " the daughter of the voice ;" they 
considered it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the want 
of the urim and thummim, with which the first was honored.* 
The little man was just entering very largely and learnedly upon 
the subject, when we were started by a prodigious bawling, shout- 
ing, and yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach of 

* Bekker*s Monde enchant^. 



HAWKING. 129 



our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a cry was put up 
by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, Christy ! now is your tirae^ 
Christy !" The Squire and Master Simon, who were beating up 
the river banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy 
to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and bewildered by the confu- 
sion of voices, completely lost his head ; in his flurry he slipped 
off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and 
away soared the hawk. 

I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lillycraft and 
her escort, whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased 
with the appearance of the party in the meadow, riding along in 
the direction that the bird flew ; their bright beaming faces turned 
up to the bright skies as they watched the game ; the attendants 
on foot scampering along, looking up, and calling out ; and the 
dogs bounding and yelping with clamorous sympathy. 

The hawk had singled out a quarry from among the carrion 
crew. It was curious to see the efforts of the two birds to get 
above each other ; one to make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid 
it. Now they crossed athwart a bright feathery cloud, and now 
they were against a clear blue sky. I confess, being no sports- 
man, I was more interested for the poor bird that was striving for 
its life, than for the hawk that was playing the part of a merce- 
nary soldier. At length the hawk got the upper hand, and made 
a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the latter made as sudden a 
"^ surge downwards, and slanting up again, evaded the blow, scream- 
ing and making the best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of 
a neighboring hill; while the hawk, disappointed of her blow, 
soared up again into the air, and appeared to be " raking " off. It 
was in vain old Christy called, and whistled, and endeavored to 
lure her down ; she paid no regard to him : and, indeed, his calls 

6* 



13C BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



were drowned in the shouts and yelps of the army of militia thai 
had followed him into the field. 

Just then an exclamation from Lady Lilly craft made me turn 
my head. I beheld a complete confusion among the sportsmen in 
the little vale below us. They were galloping and running to- 
Tvards the edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss Tem- 
pleton's horse galloping at large without his rider. I rode to the 
place to which the others were hurrying, and w^hen I reached the 
bank, which almost overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of it, 
the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, supported in 
the arms of her frantic lover. 

In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned upward, 
she had unwarily approached too near the bank ; it had given 
way wdth her, and she and her horse had been precipitated to the 
pebbled margin of the river. 

I never saw greater consternation. The captain was dis- 
tracted ; Lady Lilly craft fainting, the Squire in dismay, and Mas- 
ter Simon at his wit's ends. The beautiful creature at length 
showed signs of returning life ; she opened her eyes ; looked 
around her upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a mo- 
ment the nature of the scene, gave a sweet smile, and putting her 
hand in her lover's, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much hurt, Guy !" 
I could have taken her to my heart for that single exclamation. 

It was found, indeed, that she had escaped almost miraculously, 
with a contusion of the head, a sprained ankle, and some slight 
bruises. After her wound was stanched, she was taken to a 
neighboring cottage, until a carriage could be summoned to convey 
her home ; and when this had arrived, the cavalcade, which had 
issued forth so gayly on this enterprise, returned slowly and pen- 
«?ively to the Hall. 



HAWKING. J 31 



I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by this 
young creature, who, amidst pain and danger, had been anxious 
only to relieve the distress of those around her. I was gratified, 
therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the domestics on 
our return. They came crowding down the avenue, each eager 
to render assistance. The butler stood ready with some curiously 
delicate cordial ; the old housekeeper was provided with half a 
dozen nostrums, prepared hj her own hands, according to the 
family receipt book ; while her niece, the melting Phoebe, having 
no other way of assisting, stood wringing her hands, and weeping 
aloud. 

The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident, 
is a postponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. 
Though I commiserate the impatience of the captain on that 
account, yet I shall not otherwise be sorry at the delay, as it will 
give me a better opportunity of studying the characters here 
assembled, with which I grow more and more entertained. 

I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is quite discon- 
certed at the unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and this 
unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old 
Christy, too, is very vraspish, having been sorely twitted by Mas- 
ter Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to the fal- 
con, in the confusion occasioned by the fair Julia's disaster, the 
bird was totally forgotten. I make no doubt she has made the 
best of her way back to the hospitable hall of Sir Watkyn Wil- 
liams Wynne ; and may very possibly, at this present writing, be 
pluming her wings among the breezy bowers of Wynnstay. 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 



O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more. 

Or if to be, to wander after death ! 

To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, 

And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths 

That lead to graves ; and in the silent vault, 

Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, 

Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. 

Dryden 



The conversation this evening at supper-table took a curious 
turn on the subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in 
this part of the country, relative to the present night of the year, 
which is the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson 
informed us, that if any one would watch in the church porch on 
this eve, for three successive years, from eleven to one o'clock at 
night, he would see on the third year the shades of those of the 
parish who were to die in the course of the year, pass by him 
into church, clad in their usual apparel. 

Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us that it was 
formerly a frequent thing for persons to make the necessary 
vigils. He had known more than one instance in his time. One 
old woman, who pretended to have seen this phantom procession, 
was an object of great awe for the whole year afterwards, and 
caused much uneasiness and mischief. If she shook her head 



134 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



mysteriously at a person, it was like a death warrant ; and she 
had nearly caused the death of a sick person by looking ruefully 
in at the window. 

There was also an old man, not many years since, of a sullen, 
melancholy temperament, who had kept two rigils, and began to 
excite some talk in the village, when, fortunately for the public 
comfort, he died shortly after his third watching ; very probably 
from a cold that he had taken, as the night was tempestuous It 
was reported about the village, however, that he had seen his 
own phantom pass by him into the church. 

This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally 
strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined 
to Wales. It is respecting what are called corpse candles, little 
wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers 
in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some 
corpse is to go. Que was seen at Lanylar, late at night, hovering 
up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, and was watched by 
the neighbors until they were tired, and went to bed. Not long 
afterwards there came a comely country lass, from Montgomery- 
shire, to see her friends, who dwelt on the opposite side of the 
river. She thought to ford the stream at the very place where 
the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded on account of the 
height of the flood. She walked to and fro along the bank, just 
where the candle had moved, waiting for the subsiding of the wa- 
ter. She at length endeavored to cross, but the poor girl was 
drowned in the attempt.* 

There was something mournful in this little anecdote of rural 
superstition, that seemed to affect all the listeners. Indeed, it is 
curious to remark how completely a conversation of the kind will 

* Aubrey's Miscel. 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 135 



absorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, how- 
ever boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning 
forward over the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the parson, 
and at the mention of corpse candles which had been seen about 
the chamber of a young lady who died on the eve of her wed- 
ding-day, Lady LiUycraft turned pale. 

I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into 
various evening circles ; they were often commenced in jest, and 
hstened to with smiles ; but I never knew the most gay or the 
most enlightened of audiences, that were not, if the conversation 
continued for any length of time, completely and solemnly inter- 
ested in it. There is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking 
in every mind ; and I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine 
all his secret notions and impulses without detecting it, hidden, 
perhaps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part of our 
nature, like instinct in animals, acting independently of our rea- 
son. It is often found existing in lofty natures, especially those 
that are poetical and aspiring. A great and extraordinary poet 
of our day, whose life and writings evince a mind subject to pow- 
erful exaltations, is said to believe in omens and secret intima- 
tions. Caesar, it is well known, was greatly under the influence 
of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his 
presiding star. 

As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is strongly 
inclined to superstition. He is naturally credulous, and passes 
so much of his time searching out popular traditions and super- 
natural tales, that his mind has probably become infected by 
them. He has lately been immersed in the Demonolatria of 
Nicholas Remigius, concerning supernatural occurrences in Lor- 
-aine, and tfhe writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by 



136 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Vossius the Phoenix of Germany ; and he entertains the ladies 
with stories from them, that make them ahnost afraid to go to 
bed at night. I have been charmed myself with some of the 
wild little superstitions which he has adduced from Blefkenius, 
Scheffer, and others, such as those of the Laplanders about the 
domestic spirits which wake them at night, and summon them to go 
and fish ; of Thor, the deity of thunder, who has power of life 
and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, 
shoots his arrows at those evil demons which live on the tops of 
rocks and mountains, and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhla- 
folket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up 
and down by forests and mountains, and the moonlight sides of hills. 

The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, but I 
have remarked that he has a suspicious way of pressing great 
names into the defence of supernatural doctrines, and making 
philosophers and saints fight for him. He expatiates at large on' 
the opinions of the ancient philosophers about larves, or nocturnal 
phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, w^hich wandered like exiles 
about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings which abode in 
the air, but descended occasionally to earth, and mingled among 
mortals, acting as agents between them and the gods. He quotes 
also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and,| 
according to some, the friend of St. Paul, w^ho says that the air 
is full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined to exist for a 
time in mortal bodies, from which, being emancipated, they pass 
and repass between heaven and earth, as agents or messengers in 
the service of the Deity. 

But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone when he 
quotes from the fathers of the church ; such as St. Jerome, who 
gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 137 



powers opposed to eacli other ; and Lactantius, who says that cor- 
rupt and dangerous spirits wander over the earth, and seek to 
console themselves for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the 
human race ; and Clemens Alexandrinus, who is of opinion that 
the souls of the blessed have knowledge of what passes among 
men, the same as angels have. 

I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken 
such hold of my imagination, that I cannot sleep. The room in 
which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The 
walls are hung with, tapestry, the figures of which are faded, and 
look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from sight. Over 
the fireplace is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the 
housekeeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her lover in 
the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive coun- 
tenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The 
family have long since retired. I have heard their steps die away, 

\and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, 
^nd the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. The 
(^lock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants 
6f this house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. 
I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky land- 
/ scape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, from the 
distant village ; and the moon rising in her silent majesty, and 
leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon 
these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imper- 
fectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been 
crowded by "thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual 
beings which 

*' — walk the earth 



Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 



138 BRA.CEBRIDGE HALL. 



Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space between us and 
the Deity filled up by innumerable orders of spiritual beings form- 
ing the same gradations between the human soul and divine per- 
fection, that we see prevailing from humanity downwards to the 
meanest insect ? It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated 
by the early fathers, that there are guardian angels appointed to 
watch over cities and nations ; to take care of the welfare of good 
men, and to guard and guide the steps of helpless infancy. 
" Nothing," says St. Jerome, " gives us a greater idea of the dig- 
nity of our soul, than that God has given each of us, at the mo- 
ment of our birth, an angel to have care of it." 

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the 
scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's 
existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions 
of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However 
lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yielded 
to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion ; its 
prevalence in all ages and countries, and even among newly dis- 
covered nations, that have had no previous interchange of thought 
with other parts of the Avorld, prove it to be one of those mysteri- 
ous, and almost instinctive beliefs, to which, if left to ourselves, 
we should naturally incline. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a vague 
doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps will never be per- 
fectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a matter that does not admit 
of positive demonstration. Every thing connected with our spir- 
itual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. " We are fearfully and 
wonderfully made ;" we are surrounded by mysteries, and we are 
mysteries even tr ourselves. Who yet has been able to compre- 
hend and de^:^ *" • the nature of the soul, its connection with the 



ST. MARirS EVE. 139 



body, or in what part of the frame it is situated ? We know 
merely that it does exist ; but whence it came, and when it en- 
tered into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, and 
how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation, and contra- 
dictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual 
essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually 
present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascertain or 
to deny its powers and operations when released from its fleshly 
prison-house ? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this 
superstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that 
has brought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous pur- 
poses to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror 
with which it has been surrounded, and none of the whole circle 
of visionary creeds could more delightfully elevate the imagina- 
tion, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sove- 
reign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung 
from us by the agony of our mortal separation. What could be 
more consoling than the idea, that the souls of those whom we 
once loved were permitted to return and watch over oar welfare ? 
That affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we 
slept, keeping si vigil over our most helpless hours ? That beauty 
and innocence which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled 
unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams 
wherein we live over again the hours of past endearment ? A 
belief of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive to 
virtue ; rendering us circumspect even in our secret moments, 
from the idea that those we once loved and honored were invisi- 
ble witnesses of all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution 
which we are apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pi) 



140 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



grimage through the wilderness of this world, and find that those 
who set forward with us, lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, 
have one by one dropped away from our side. Place the super- 
stition in tiiis light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in 
it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the tender and 
merciful nature of our religion, nor revolting to the wishes and 
affections of the heart. 

There are departed beings whom I have loved as I never 
again shall love in this world ;— who have loved me as I never 
again shall be loved ! If such beings do ever retain in their 
blessed spheres the attachments which they felt on earth ; if they J 
take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and ' 
are permitted to hold communion with those whom they have 
loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this 
silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most 
solemn, but unalloyed delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world ; 
they would be incompatible with the nature of this imperfect state 
of being. We are here placed in a mere scene of spiritual thral- 
dom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds 
and barriers ; shackled by mortal infirmities, and subject to all 
the gross impediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act 
independently of the body, and to mingle together in spiritual 
intercourse. They can only act here through their fleshly organs. 
Their earthly loves are made up of transient embraces and long 
separations. The most intimate friendship, of what brief and 
scattered portions of time does it consist ! We take each other 
by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, 
and we rejoice together for a few short moments, and then days, 
months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each 



ST. MAEK'S EVE. 141 



other. Or granting that we dwell together for the full season of 
this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates between us, and 
then our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and widow- 
hood ; until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, 
where soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there 
will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else to inter- 
rupt our felicity. 



*^* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the writings of 
some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound with wild theories ; 
but among them are many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas 
are often very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on the 
nature of angels are curious and fanciful, though much resembling 
the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. In the writings of the 

4 

Rabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation of our first parents, 
and the fall of the angels, which the parson pointed out to me as 
having probably furnished some of the groundwork for " Para- 
dise Lost." 

According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to the 
Deity, "What is there in man that thou makest him of such 
nnportance? Is he any thing else than vanity? for he can 
scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." To which God 
replied, " Do you imagine that I will be exalted and glorified 
only by you here above ? I am the same below that I am here. 
Who is there among you that can call all the creatures by their 
names !" There was none found among them that could do so. 
At that moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their 



142 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



name. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among them- 
selves, " Let us consult together how we may cause Adam to sin 
against the Creator, otherwise he will not fail to become our 
master." 

Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, was present 
at this council, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim 
of six bands. Sammael chose several out of the twelve orders to 
accompany him, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting 
all the creatures which God had created. He found none more 
cunning and more fit to do evil than the serpent. 

The Rabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man ; of 
the consequent fall of the demon, and the punishment which God 
inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all 
come before him ; pronounced nine maledictions on Adam and 
Eve, and condemned them to suffer death ; and he precipitated 
Sammael and all his band from heaven. He cut off the feet of 
the serpent, which had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael 
having been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among all 
beasts and animals.'" 



GENTILITI. 



True Gentrie standeth in the trade 

Of virtuous life, not in the fleshly jne ; 
For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 

Mirror for Magistkates. 



I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire in the educa- 
tion of his sons ; but I would not have it thought that his instruc- 
tions were directed chiefly to their personal accomplishments 
He took great pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate 
what he calls good old English principles, such as are laid down 
in the writings of Peachem and his contemporaries. There is 
one author of whom he cannot speak without indignation, which 
is Chesterfield. He avers that he did much, for a time, to injure 
the true national character, and . to introduce, instead of open 
manly sincerity, a hollovf perfidious courtliness. " His maxims," 
he afiirms, " were calculated to chill the delightful enthusiasm of 
youth, and to make them ashamed of that romance which is the 
dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them a cold polish 
and a premature worldliness." 

" Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young 
man a mere man of pleasure ; but an English gentleman should 
not be a mere man of pleasure. He has no right to such selfish 
indulgence. His ease, his leisure, his opulence, are debts due to 
his country, which he must ever stand ready to discharge. He 



144 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



should be a man at all points ; simple, frank, courteous, intelli- 
gent, accomplished, and informed ; upright, intrepid, and disinter- . 
ested ; one who can mingle among freemen; who can cope with 
statesmen ; who can champion his country and its rights either at 
home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such 
free and unbounded scope for the exertion of mtellect, and where 
opinion and example have such weight with the people, every 
gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel himself bound to 
employ himself in some w^ay towards promoting the prosperity or 
glory of the nation. In a country where intellect and action are 
trammeled and restrained, men of rank and fortune may become i 
idlers and triflers with impunity ; but an English coxcomb is ! 
inexcusable ; and this, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most 
offensive and insupportable coxcomb in the world." 

The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often 
hold forth in this manner to his sons when they were about leav- 
ing the paternal roof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, 
and one to the university. He used to have them with him in 
the library, which is hung with the portraits of Sydney, Surrey, 
Raleigh, Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true Eng- 
lish gentlemen, my sons," he would say with enthusiasm ; " those 
were men that wreathed the graces of the most delicate and 
refined taste around the stern virtues of the soldier ; that mingled 
what was gentle and gracious, with what was hardy and manly ; 
that possessed the true chivalry of spirit, which is the exalted 
essence of manhood. They are the lights by which the youth of 
the country should array themselves. They were the patterns 
and idols of their country at home ; they were the illustrators of 
its dignity abroad. ^ Surrey,' says Camden, ' was the first noble- 
man that illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learning. 



GENTILITY. 145 



He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, the poHtest lover, 
and the completest gentleman of his time.' And as to Wyat, his 
friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his person was 
majestic and beautiful, his visage ^ stern and mild ;' that he sung, 
and played the lute with remarkable sweetness ; spoke foreign 
languages with grace and fluency, and possessed an inexhaustible 
fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passed upon 
these illustrious friends: 'They were the two chieftains, who, 
having traveled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet and stately 
measures and style of the Italian poetry, greatly polished our 
rude and homely manner of vulgar poetry from what it had been 
before, and therefore may be justly called the reformers of our 
English poetry and style.' And Sir Philip Sydney, who has left 
us such monuments of elegant thought, and generous sentiment, 
and who illustrated his chivalrous spirit so gloriously in the field. 
And Sir Walter Kaleigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid sol- 
dier, the enterprising discoverer, the enlightened philosopher, the 
magnanimous martyr. These are the men for English gentlemen 
to study. Chesterfield, with his cold and courtly maxims, would 
have chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have 
blighted all the budding romance of their temperaments. Sydney 
would nei 3r have written his Arcadia, nor Surrey have chal- 
lenged the world in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. 
These are the men, my sons," the Squire will continue, " that 
show to what our national character may be exalted, when its 
strong and powerful qualities are duly wrought up and refined. 
The solidest bodies are capable of the highest polish ; and there 
is no character that may be wrought to a more exquisite and 
unsullied brightness, than that of the true English gentleman." 
When Guy was about to depart for the army, the Squire again 

7 



146 15RACEBRIDGE HALL. 



took him aside, and gave him a long exhortation. He warned 
him against that affectation of cold-blooded indifference, which he 
was told was cultivated by the young British officers, among whom 
it was a study to "sink the soldier" in the mere man of fashion. 
" A soldier," said he, " without pride and enthusiasm in his pro- 
fession, is a mere sanguinary hireling. Nothing distinguishes him 
from the mercenary bravo but a spirit of patriotism, or a thirst for 
glory. It is the fashion, now-a-days, my son,'' said he, " to laugh 
at the spirit of chivalry ; when that spirit is really extinct, the pro- 
fession of the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He then 
set before him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, who is 
his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable, humane ; gallant 
in the field ; but when he came to dwell on his courtesy toward 
his prisoner, the king of France ; how he received him in his tent, 
rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; attended on him at table 
like one of his retinue ; rode uncovered beside him on his entry 
into London, mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner 
was mounted in state on a white steed of stately beauty ; the tears 
of enthusiasm stood in the old gentleman's eyes. 

Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his son's 
hands, as a manual, one of his favorite old volumes, the Life of 
the Chevalier Bayard, by Godefroy ; on a blank page of which 
he had written an extract from*the Morte d' Arthur, containing the 
eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, 
which the Squire considers as comprising the excellencies of al 
true soldier. " Ah, Sir Lancelot ! thou wert head of all Christianl 
knights ; now there thou liest : thou were never matched of none 
earthly knights-hands. And thou wert the curtiest knight that 
ever bare shield. And thou were the truest friend to thy lover 
that ever bestrood horse ; and thou were the truest lover of a sin 



GENTILITY. 147 



full man that ever loved woman. And thou were the kindest man 
that ever strook with sword; and thou were the goodliest person 
that ever came among the presse of knights. And thou were the 
meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. 
And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put 
speare in rest.'' 



FORTUNE-TELLING 

Each city, each town, and every village 

Affords us either an alms or pillage. 

And if the weather be cold and raw, 

Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 

If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock, 

The fields will aiford us a hedge or a hay-cock. 

Merry Eegoars. 

As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, Master Simor, 
and the general, in a meadow not far from the village, we heard 
the sound of a fiddle, rudely played, and looking in the direction 
whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among 
the trees. The sound of music is always attractive ; for, wherever 
there is music, there is good humor, or good-will. We passed 
along a footpath, and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, 
at the musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, 
and told us that if we would follow him we should have some 
sport. 

It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of three or 
four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets and sail cloth, spread 
over hoops stuck in the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, 
close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech-tree spreading 
above it. A small rill tinkled along close by, through the fresh 
Bward, that looked like a carpet. 



^ 



150 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over a 
fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in red 
cloaks, sat crouched on the grass, gossiping over their evening cup 
of tea ; for these creatures, though they live in the open air, have 
their ideas of fireside comforts. ThcFe were two or three children 
sleeping on the straw with which the tents were littered ; a couple 
of donkeys were grazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog 
was lying before the fire. Some of the younger gipsies were 
dancing to the music of a fiddle, played by a tall, slender stripling, 
in an old frock coat, with a peacock's feather stuck in his hatband. 

As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine roguish 
eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our fortunes. I could 
not but admire a certain degree of slattern elegance about the 
baggage. Her long black silken hair was curiously plaited in 
numerous small braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque 
style that a painter might have been proud to have devised. Her 
dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over clean, but 
of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colors ; for these 
beings have a singularly fine eye for colors. Her straw hat was 
in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. 

The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the 
girl began with the usual volubility of her race ; but he drew her 
on one side, near the hedge, as he said'he had no idea of having 
his secrets overheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of she 
to him, and by his glancing towards us now and then, that he was 
giving the baggage some private hints. When they returned to 
us, he assumed a very serious air. " Zounds !" said he, " it's 
very astonishing how these creatures come by their knowledge ; 
this girl has told me some things that I thought no one knew but 
myself!" 



FORTUNE-TELLING. 151 



The girl now assailed the general : " Come, your honor," said 
?he, ''' I see by your face you're a lucky man ; but you're not 
liappy in your mind ; you're not, indeed, sir : but have a good 
heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I'll tell you a nicb 
fortune." 

The general had received all her approaches ,vith a banter, 
and had suffered her to get hold of his hand ; but at the mention 
of the piece of silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and turning to 
us, asked if we had not better continue our walk. " Come, my 
master," said the girl, archly, "you'd not be in such a hurry, if 
you knew all that I could tell you about a fair lady that has a 
notion for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong ; there's many 
a one comes to see weddings that go away brides themselves !" — 
Here the girl whispered somethir^g in a low voice, at which the 
general colored up, was a little fluttered, and suffered himself to 
be drawn aside under the hedge, where he appeared to listen to 
her with great earnestness, and at the end paid her half-a-crown 
with the air of a man that has got the worth of his money. 

The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, who, how- 
ever, was too old a bird to be caught, knowing that it would end 
in an attack upon his purse, about which he is a little sensitive. 
As he has a great notion, however, of being considered a royster, 
he chucked her uilder the chin, played her off with rather broad 
jokes, and put on something of the rake-helly air, that we see 
now and then assumed on the stage, by the sad-boy gentlemen of 
the old school. " Ah, your honor," said the girl, with a malicious 
leer, " you were not in such a tantrum last year, when I told you 
about the widow you know who ; but if you had taken a friend's 
advice, you'd never have come away from Doncaster races with a 
flea in your ear !" 



152 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



There was a secret sting in this speech that seemed quite to 
disconcert Master Simon.* He jerked away his hand in a pet, 
smacked his whip, whistled to his dogs, and intimated that it was 
high time to go home. The girl, however, was determined not to 
lose her harvest. She now turned upon me, and, as I have a 
weakness of spirit where there is a pretty face concerned^ she 
soon wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me a for- 
tune ; which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, 
will make me one of the luckiest m.en in the chronicles of Cupid. 

I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this oracular 
mystery, and was disposed to amuse himself with the general, 
whose tender approaches to the widow have attracted the notice 
of the wag. I was a little curious, however, to know the mean- 
ing of the dark hints which had, so suddenly disconcerted Master 
Simon ; and took occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on 
our way home, when he laughed heartily at my questions, and 
gave me ample information on the subject. 

The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with 
a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. He used 
at that time to be joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as 
he privately informed me. I had supposed the pleasure he 
betrayed on these occasions resulted from the usual fondness of 
old bachelors for being teased about getting married, and about 
flirting, and being fickle and false-hearted. I am assured, how- 
ever, that Master Simon had really persuaded himself the widow 
had a kindness for him ; in consequence of which he had been at 
Rome extraordinary expense in new clothes, and had actually got 
Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. He began 
to throw out hints about the importance of a man's settling him- 
eelf in life before he sjrew old ; he would look gjrave whenevo.'' 



FORTUNE-TELLING. 153 



the widow and matrimony were mentioned in the same sentence ; 
and privately asked the opinion of the Squire and parson about 
the prudence of marrying a widow with a rich jointure, but who 
had several children. 

An important member of a great family connection cannot 
harp much upon the theme of matrimony without its taking wind ; 
and it soon got buzzed about that Mr. Simon Bracebridge was 
actually gone to Doncaster races, with a new horse ; but that he 
meant to return in a curricle with a lady by his side. Master 
Simon did, indeed, go to the races, and that with a new horse ; and 
the dashing widow did make her appearance in her curricle ; but 
it was unfortunately driven by a strapping young Irish dragoon, 
with whom even Master Simon's self-complacency would not allow 
him to venture into competition, and to whom she was married 
shortly afterwards. 

It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for several 
months, having never before been fully committed. The dullest 
head in the family had a joke upon him ; and there is no one 
that likes less to be bantered than an absolute joker. He took 
refuge for a time at Lady Lilly craft's until the matter should blow 
over ; and occupied himself by looking over her accounts, regu- 
lating the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a pet bull- 
finch, by teaching him to whistle " God save the King." 

He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mortification ; 
holds up his head, and laughs as much as any one ; again affects 
to pity married men, and is particularly facetious about widows, 
when Lady Lillycraft is not by. His only time of trial is when 
the general gets hold of him, who is infinitely heavy and perse- 
vering in his waggery, and will interweave a dull joke through 
the various topics of a whole dinner-time. Master Simon often 

7* 



154 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

parries these attacks by a stanza from his old work of " Cupid'<« 
Solicitor for Love :" 

" 'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, 

In once or twice her mind you may perceive ; 
Widows are subtle, be they old or young. 

And by their wiles youns; men they will deceive.*' 



f 



LOVE-CHARMS. 



-Come, do not weep, ray girl, 



Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will 
Come others, every day, as good as he. 

Sir J. SucKLiNa. 

The approach of a wedding in a family is always an event of 
great importance, but particularly so in a household like this, in 
a retired part of the country. Master Simon, who is a pervading 
spirit, and, through means of the butler and housekeeper, knows 
every thing that goes forward, tells me that the maid-servants are 
continually trying their fortunes, and that the servants'-hall has 
of late been quite a scene of incantation. 

It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the head of a 
family flow down through all the branches. The Squire, in the 
indulgence of his love of every thing which smacks of old times, 
has held so many grave conversations with the parson at table, 
about popular superstitions and traditional rites, that they have 
been carried from the parlor to the kitchen by the listening do- 
mestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by such high authority, 
the whole house has become infected by them. 

The servants are all versed in the common modes of trying 
luck, and the charms to insure constancy. They read their for- 
tunes by drawing strokes in the ashes, or by repeating a form of 
words, and looking in a pail of water. St. Mark's Eve, I am 
told, was a busy time with them ; being an appointed night for 



156 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



certain mystic ceremonies. Several of them sowed hemp-seed to 
be reaped by their true lovers ; and they even ventured upon the 
solemn and fearful preparation of the dumb-cake. This must be 
done fasting, and in silence. The ingredients are handed down 
in traditional form. " An eggshell full of salt, an eggshell full 
of malt, and an eggshell full of barley-meal." When the cake is 
ready, it is put upon a pan over the fire, and the future husband 
will appear ; turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is spoken, 
or a fast is broken, during this awful ceremony, there is no know- 
ing what horrible consequences would ensue ! 

The experiments, in the present instance, came to no result ; 
they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the magic rhyme that they 
were to pronounce, so the true lover never appeared ; and as to 
the dumb-cake, what between the awful stillness they had to keep, 
and the awfulness of the midnight hour, their hearts failed them 
when they had put the cake in the pan ; so that, on the striking of 
the great house-clock in the servants'-hall, they were seized with a 
sudden panic, and ran out of the room, to which they did not return 
until morning, when they found the mystic cake burnt to a cinder. 

The most persevering at these spells, however, is Phoebe Wil 
kins, the housekeeper's niece. As she is a kind of privileged 
personage, and rather idle, she has more time to occupy herself 
with these matters. She has always had her head full of love 
and matrimony. She knows the dream-book by heart, and is 
quite an oracle among the little girls of the family, who always 
come to her to interpret their dreams in the mornings. 

During the present gayety of the house, however, the poor 
girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to use the housekeeper's 
words, " has fallen into a sad hystericky way lately." It seems 
that she was born and brought up in the village, where her father 



LOVE-CHARMS. 157 



was parisli clerk, and she was an early playmate and sweetheart 
of young Jack Tibbets. Since she has come to live at the Hall, 
however, her head has been a little turned. Being very pretty, 
and naturally genteel, she has been much noticed and indulged ; 
and being the housekeeper's niece, she has held an equivocal sta- 
tion between a servant and a companion. She has learnt some- 
thing of fashions and notions among the young ladies, which have 
eiFected quite a metamorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at 
church on Sundays has given mortal offence to her former inti- 
mates in the village. This has occasioned the misrepresentations 
which have awakened the implacable family pride of Dame Tib- 
bets. But what is worse, Phoebe, having a spice of coquetry in 
her disposition, showed it on one or two occasions to her lover, 
which produced a downright quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud 
and fiery, has absolutely turned his back upon her for several 
successive Sundays. 

The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and would fain 
make up with her lover ; but he feels his security, and stands 
aloof. In this he is doubtless encouraged by his mother, who is 
continually reminding him what he owes to his family ; for this 
same family pride seems doomed to be the eternal bane of lovers. 

As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have felt quite con- 
cerned for the luckless Phoebe, ever since I heard her story. It 
is a sad thing to be thwarted in love at any time, but particularly 
so at this tender season of the year, when every living thing, 
even to the very butterfly, is sporting with its mate ; and the green 
fields, and the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, and 
the sweet smell of the flowers, are enough to turn the head of a 
love-sick girl. I am told that the coolness of young Ready- 
Money lies very heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. Instead of sing- 



158 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



ing about the house as formerly, she goes about pale and sighing, 
and is apt to break into tears when her companions are full of 
merriment. 

Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, 
has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the ave- 
nue, of an evening ; and has endeavored to squeeze some of her 
own verjuice into the other's milky nature. She speaks with con- 
tempt and abhorrence of the whole sex, and advises Phoebe to 
despise all the men as heartily as 'she does. But Phoebe's loving 
temper is not to be curdled ; she has no such thing as hatred or 
contempt for mankind in her whole composition. She has all the 
simple fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman ; and her 
only thoughts at present are, how to conciliate and reclaim her 
wayward swain. 

The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to the 
other domestics, are serious concerns with this love-stricken dam- 
sel. She is continually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. 
I am told that she has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays and 
three Fridays successively, having understood that it was a sove- 
reign charm to insure being married to one's liking within the 
year. She carries about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, 
and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of producing con- 
stancy in a lover. She even went so far as to try her fortune by 
the moon, which has always had much to do with lovers' dreams 
and fancies. For this purpose she went out in the night of the 
full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated the old 
traditional rhyme : 

" All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee ; 
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me 
The youth who my future husband shall be." 



LOVE-CHARMS. 159 



When she came back to the house, she was faint and pale, and 
went immediately to bed. The next morning she told the porter's 
wife that she had seen some one close by the hedge in the meadow 
which she was sure was young Tibbets ; at any rate, she had 
dreamt of him all night ; both of which, the old dame assured 
her, were most happy signs. It has since turned out that the per- 
son in the meadow was old Christy, the huntsman, who was walk- 
ing his nightly rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that Phoebe's 
faith in the charm is completely shaken. 



THE LIBMHi. 

Yesterday the fair Julia made her first appearance down stairs 
since her accident; and the sight of her spread an universal 
cheerfulness through the household. She was extremely pale, 
however, and could not walk without pain and difficulty. She 
was assisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which is pleasant 
and retired, looking out among trees ; and so quiet, that the little 
birds come hopping upon the windows, and peering curiously into 
the apartment. Here several of the' family gathered round, and 
devised means to amuse her, and make the day pass pleasantly. 
Lady Lilly craft lamented the want of some new novel to while 
away the time ; and was almost in a pet, because the " Author 
of Waverly " had not produced a work for the last three months. 

There was a motion made to call on the parson for some of 
his old legends or ghost stories ; but to this Lady Lillycraft ob- 
jected, as they were apt to give her the vapors. General Har- 
bottle gave a minute account, for the sixth time, of the disaster 
of a friend in India, who had his leg bitten off by a tiger, whilst 
he was hunting ; and was proceeding to menace the company with 
a chapter or two about Tippoo Sail^ 

At length the captain bethought himself, and said, he believed 
he had a manuscript tale lying in one corner of his campaigning 
trunk, which, if he could find, and the company were desirous, he 



162 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



would read to them. The offer was eagerly accepted. He re- 
tu'ed, and soon returned with a roll of blotted manuscript, in a 
very gentlemanlike, but nearly illegible hand, and a great part 
written on cartridge paper. 

" It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my poor friend, 
Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. He was a curious, romantic, 
studious, fanciful fellow ; the favorite, and often the unconscious 
butt of his fellow of&cers, who entertained themselves with his 
eccentricities. He was in some of the hardest service in the 
peninsula, and distinguished himself by his gallantry. When the 
intervals of duty permitted, he was fond of roving about the 
country, visiting noted places, and was extremely fond of Moorish 
ruins. When at his quarters, he was a great scribbler, and passed 
much of his leisure with his pen in his hand. 

" As I was a much younger officer, and a very young man, he 
took me, in a manner, under his care, and we became close friends. 
He used often to read his w^ri tings to me, having a great confi- 
dence in my taste, for I always praised them. Poor fellow ! he 
was shot down close by me at Waterloo. We lay wounded toge- 
ther for some time, during a hard contest that took place near at 
hand. As I was least hurt, I tried to relieve him, and to stanch 
the blood which flowed from a wound in his breast. He lay with 
his head in my lap, and looked up thankfully in my face, but 
shook his head faintly, and made a sign that it was all over with 
him ; and, indeed, he died a few minutes afterwards, just as our 
men had repulsed the enemy, and came to our relief. I have his 
favorite dog and his pistols to this day, and several of his manu- 
scripts, which he gave to me at different times. The one I am 
now going to read, is a tale which he said he wrote in Spain, 
during the time that he lay ill of a wound received at Salamanca." 



THE LIBRARY. 163 



We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. The captain 
seated himself on the sofa, beside the fair Julia, who I had noticed 
to be somewhat affected by the picture he had carelessly drawn of 
wounds and dangers in a field of battle. She now leaned her arm 
fondly on his shoulder, and her eye glistened as it rested on the 
manuscript of the poor, literary dragoon. Lady Lilly craft buried 
let'self in a deep, well-cushioned elbow-chair. Her dogs were 
nestled on soft mats at her feet ; and the gallant general took his 
station in an arm-chair at her side, and toyed with her elegantly 
ornamented work-bag. The rest of the circle being all equally 
well accommodated, the captain began his story ; a copy of which 
I have procured for the benefit of the reader. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 

What a life doe I lead with my master ; nothing but blowing of bellowes, beatingof s trits, 
and scraping of croslets ! It is a very secret science, for none almost can understand the lan- 
guage of it. Sublimation, almigation, calcination, rubification, albification, and fermentation ; 
with as many termes unpossible to be uttered as the arte to be compassed. 

Lilly's Gallathea. 

Once upon a time, in the ancient city of Grenada, there sojourned 
a young man of the name of Antonio de Castros. He wore the 
garb of a student of Salamanca, and was pursuing a course of 
reading in the library of the university; and, at intervals of 
leisure, indulging his curiosity by examining those remains of 
Moorish magnificence for which Grenada is renowned. 

Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently noticed an old 
mau of singular appearance, who was likewise a visitor to the 
library. He was lean and withered, though apparently more from 
study than from age. His eyes, though bright and visionary, 
were sunk in his head, and thrown into shade by overhanging eye- 
brows. His dress was always the same : a black doublet, a short 
black cloak, very rusty and threadbare, a small ruff, and a large 
overshadowing hat. 

His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He would 
pass whole days in the library, absorbed in study, consulting a 
multiplicity of authors, as though he were pursuing some inter- 
esting subject through all its ramifications ; so that, when evening 
came, he was almost buried among books and manuscripts. 



166 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he inquijred of the 
attendants concerning the stranger. No one could give him any 
information, excepting that he had been for some time past a 
casual frequenter of the library; that his reading lay chiefly 
among works treating of the occult sciences, and that he was par- 
ticularly curious in his inquiries after Arabian manuscripts. The} 
added, that he never held communication with any one, excepting 
to ask for particular works ; that, after a fit of studious applica- 
tion, he would disappear for several days, and even weeks, and 
when he revisited the library, he would look more withered 
and haggard than ever. The student felt interested by this ac- 
count ; he was leading rather a desultory life, and had all that 
capricious curiosity which springs up in idleness. He determined 
to make himself acquainted with this bookworm, and find out who 
and what he was. 

The next time that he saw the old man at the library he 
commenced his approaches, by requesting permission to look into 
one of the volumes with which the unknown appeared to have 
done. The latter merely bowed his head in token of assent. 
After pretending to look through the volume with great attention, 
he returned it with many acknowledgments. The stranger made 
no reply. 

"May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some hesitation, 
" may I ask what you are searching after in all these books ?" 

The old man raised his head, with an expression of surprise, 
at having his studies interrupted for the first time, and by so 
intrusive a question. He surveyed the strident with a side-glance 
from head to foot : " Wisdom, my son," said he, calmly ; " and 
the search requires every moment of my attention." He then 
cast his eyes upon his book and resumed his studies. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 167 



" But, fattier," said Antonio, " cannot you spare a moment to 
point out the road to others ? It is to experienced travelers, like 
you, that we strangers in the paths of knowledge must look for 
directions on our journey." 

The stranger looked disturbed : " I have not time enough, mj 
son, to learn," said he, '' much less to teach. I am ignorant my- 
self of the path of true knowledge ; how then can I show it to 
others?" 

" Well, but father— " 

" Seiior," said the old man^ mildly, but earnestly, " you must 
see that I have but a few steps more to the grave. In that short 
space have I to accomplish the whole business of my existence. 
I have no time for words ; every word is as one grain of sand of 
my glass wasted. Suffer me to be alone." 

There was no replying to so complete ..a closing of the door of 
intimacy. The student found himself calmly but totally repulsed. 
Though curious and inquisitive, he was naturally modest, and on 
after-thoughts blushed at his own intrusion. His mind soon 
became occupied by other objects. He passed several days wan- 
dering among the mouldering piles of Moorish architecture, those 
melancholy monuments of an elegant and voluptuous people. He 
paced the deserted halls of the Alhambra, the paradise of the 
Moorish kings. He visited the great court of the lions, famous 
for the perfidious massacre of the gallant Abencerrages. He 
gazed with admiration at its Mosaic cupolas, gorgeously painted 
in gold and azure ; its basins of marble, its alabaster vase, sup- 
ported by lions, and storied with inscriptions. 

His imagination kindled as he wandered among these scenes. 
They were calculated to awaken all the enthusiasm of a youthful 
mind. Moist of the halls have anciently been beautified by foun- 



168 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



tains. The fine taste of the Arabs delighted in the sparkling 
purity and reviving freshness of water, and they erected, as it 
were, altars on every side, to that delicate element. Poetry 
mingles with architecture in the Alhambra. It breathes along 
the very walls. Wherever Antonio turned his eye, he beheld 
inscriptions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish power 
and splendor within these walls was confidently predicted. Alas ! 
how has the prophecy been falsified ! Many of the basins, where 
the fountains had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were 
dry and dusty. Some of the palaces were turned into gloomy 
convents, and the barefoot monk paced through those courts, 
which had once glittered with the array, and echoed to the music 
of Moorish chivalry. 

In the course of his rambles, the student more than once 
encountered the old man of the library. He was always alone, 
and so full of thought as not to notice any one about him. He 
appeared to be intent upon studying those half-buried inscrip- 
tions, which are found, here and there, among the Moonsh ruins, 
and seem to murmur from the earth the tale of former greatness. 
The greater part of these have since been translated ; but they 
were supposed by many, at the time, to contain symbolical reve- 
lations, and golden maxims of the Arabian sages and astrologers. 
As Antonio saw the stranger apparently deciphering these in 
scriptions, he felt an eager longing to make his acquaintance, and 
to participate in his curious researches ; but the repulse he had 
met with at the library deterred him from making any further 
advances. 

He had directed his steps one evening to the sacred mount, 
which overlooks the beautiful valley watered by the Darro, the 
fertile plain of the Vega, and all that rich diversity of vale and 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 169 



mountain, which surrounds Grenada with an earthly paradise. It 
was twilight when he found himself at the place, where, at the 
present day, are situated the chapels, known by the name of the 
Sacred Furnaces. They are so called from grottoes, in which 
some of the primitive saints are said to have been burnt. At the 
time of Antonio's visit, the place was an object of much curiosity. 
In an excavation of these grottoes, several manuscripts had 
recently been discovered, engraved on plates of lead. They 
were written in the Arabian language, excepting one, which was 
in unknown characters. The pope had issued a bull, forbidding 
any one, under pain of excommunication, to speak of these manu- 
scripts. The prohibition had only excited the greater curiosity ; 
and many reports were whispered about, that these manuscripts 
contained treasures of dark and forbidden knowledge. 

As Antonio was examining the place whence these mysteri- 
ous manuscripts had been drawn, he again observed the old man 
of the library wandering among the ruins. His curiosity was 
now fully awakened ; the time and place served to stimulate it. 
He resolved to watch this groper after secret and forgotten lore, 
and to trace him to his habitation. There was something like 
adventure in the thing, which charmed his romantic disposition. 
He followed the stranger, therefore, at a little distance ; at first 
cautiously, but he soon observed him to be so wrapped in his own 
thoughts, as to take little heed of external objects. 

They passed along the skirts of the mountain, and then by the 
shady banks of the Darro. They pursued their way, for some 
distance from Grenada, along a lonely road leading among the 
hills. The gloom of evening was gathering, and it was quite 
dark when the stranger stopped at; the portal of a solitary 
fi^nnsion. 



170 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of what 
had once been a pile of some consequence. The walls were of 
great thickness ; the windows narrow, and generally secured by 
iron bars. The door w^as of planks, studded with iron spikes, and 
had been of great strength, though at present much decayed At 
one end of the mansion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style 
of architecture. The edifice had probably been a country re- 
treat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation of Grenada by 
the Moors, and rendered sufficiently strong to withstand any 
casual assault in those warlike times. 

The old man knocked at the portal. A light appeared at a 
small window just above it, and a female head looked out; it 
might have served as a model for one of Raphael's saints. The 
hair was beautifally braided, and gathered in a silken net ; and 
the complexion, as well as could be judged from the light, was 
that soft, rich brunette, so becoming in southern beauty. 

" It is I, my child," said the old man. The face instantly 
disappeared, and soon after a wdcket-door in the large portal 
opened. Antonio, who had ventured near to the building, caught 
a transient sight of a delicate female form. A pair of fine black 
eyes darted a look of surprise at seeing a stranger hovering near, 
and the door was precipitately closed. 

There was something in this sudden gleam of beauty that 
wonderfully struck the imagination of the student. It was like 
a brilliant flashing from its dark casket. He sauntered about, 
regarding the gloomy pile w^ith increasing interest. A few simple, 
wild notes, from among some rocks and trees at a little distance, 
attracted his attention. He found there a group of Gitanas, 
a vagabond gipsy race, wdiich at that time abounded in Spain, 
and lived in hovels and caves of the hills about tlie neighborhood 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 17) 



cf Grenada. Some were busy about a fire, and others were 
iistenino; to the uncouth music which one of their companions, 
seated on a ledge of the rock, was making with a spht reed. 

Antonio endeavored to obtain some information of them 
concerning the old building and its inhabitants. The one who 
appeared to be their spokesman was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle 
gait, a whispering voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He 
shrugged his shoulders on the student's inquiries, and said, " All 
was not right in that building. An old man inhabited it, whom 
nobody knew, and whose family appeared to be only a daughter 
and a female servant. I and my companions," he added, " live up 
among the neighboring hills ; and as we have been about at night 
we have often seen strange lights and heard strange sounds 
from the tower. Some of the country people, who work in the 
vineyards among the hills, believe the old man deals in the black- 
art, and they are not overfond of passing near the tower at night. 
But for our parts, we Gitanas are not a people to trouble our- 
selves with fears of that kind." 

The student endeavored to gain more precise information, but 
they had none to furnish him. They began to be solicitous for a 
compensation for what they had already imparted ; and recollect- 
ing the loneliness of the place, and the vagabond character of his 
companions, he was glad to give them a gratuity and hasten 
homewards. 

He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too full of what 
he had seen and heard ; his eye was upon the page, but his fancy 
still returned to the tower, and he was continually picturing the 
little window, with the beautiful head peeping out; or the door 
half open, and the nymph-hke form within. He retired to bed, 
but the same objects haunted his dreams. He wai^ young and 



172 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



susceptible ; and the excited state of his feelings, from wandering 
among the abodes of departed grace and gallantry, had predis- 
posed him for a sudden impression from female beauty. 

The next morning he strolled again in the direction of the 
tower. It was still more forlorn by the broad glare of day than 
in the gloom of evening. The walls were crumbling, and weeds 
and moss were growing in every crevice. It had the look of a 
prison rather than a dwelling-house. In one angle, however, he 
remarked a window which seemed an exception to the surround- 
ing squalidness. There was a curtain drawn within it, and 
flowers standinor on the window-stone. Whilst he was lookino; 
at it, the curtain was partially withdrawn, and a delicate white 
arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was put forth to water the 
flowers. 

The student made a noise to attract the attention of the fair 
florist. He succeeded. The curtain was further drawn, and he 
had a glance of the same lovely face he had seen the evening 
before ; it was but a mere glance ; the curtain again fell, and the 
casement closed. All this was calculated to excite the feelings of 
a romantic youth. Had he seen the unknown under other cir- 
cumstances, it is probable he woula not have been struck with her 
beauty ; but this appearance of being shut up and kept apart 
gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed 
before the house several times in the course of the day, but saw 
nothinor more. He was there again in the evenino*. The whole 

C DO 

aspect of the house was dreary. The narrow windows emitted 
no rays of cheerful light, to indicate social life within. Antonio 
listened at the portal, but no sound of voices reached his ear. 
Just then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and fearing 
to be detected in the unworthy act of eaves-dropping, he precipi- 



THE STUDENT OF SALx\MANCA. 173 



tately drew off to the opposite side of the road, and stood in the 
shadow of a rained archway. 

He now remarked a light from a window in the tower. It 
was fitful and changeable ; commonly feeble and yellowish, as if 
from a lamp ; with an occasional glare of some vivid metallic 
color, followed by a dusky glow. A column of dense smoke 
would now and then rise in the air, and hang like a canopy over 
the tower. There was altogether such a loneliness and seeming 
mystery about the building and its inhabitants, that Antonio was 
half inclined to indulge the country people's notions, and to fancy 
it the den of some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel he had 
seen to be some spell-bound beauty. 

After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in the window 
where he had seen the beautiful arm. The curtain was down, 
but it was so thin that he could perceive the shadow^ of some one 
passing and repassing betw^een it and the light. He fancied 
he could distinguish that the form was delicate ; and from the 
alacrity of its movements, it was evidently youthful. He had 
not a doubt but this was the bedchamber of his beautiful un- 
known. 

Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a female voice 
singing. He drew near cautiously, and listened. It was a plain- 
tive Moorish ballad, and lie recognized in it the lamentations of 
one of the Abencerrages on leaving the walls of lovely Grenada. 
It was full of passion and tenderness. It spoke of the delights 
of early life ; the hours of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the 
Darro, and among the blissful abodes of the Alhambra. It be- 
wailed the fallen honors of the Abencerrages, and imprecated 
vengeance on their oppressors. Antonio was affected by the 
music. It singularly coincided with the place. It was like the 



174 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



\oice of past times echoed in the present, and breathing among 
the monuments of its departed glories. 

The voice ceased ; after a time the light disappeared, and all 
was still. " She sleeps !" said Antonio, fondly. He lingered 
about the building with the devotion with which a lover lingers 
about the bower of sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw it^ 
sih a* beams on the gray walls, and glittered on the casement. 
The late gloomy landscape gradually became flooded with its radi- 
ance. Finding, therefore, that he could no longer move about ia 
obscurity, and fearful that his loiterings might be observed, he 
reluctantly retired. 

The curiosity which had at first drawn the young man to the 
tower was now seconded by feelings of a more romantic kind. 
His studies were almost entirely abandoned. He maintained a 
kind of blockade of the old mansion ; he would take a book with 
him, and pass a great part of the day under the trees in its 
vicinity ; keeping a vigilant eye upon it, and endeavoring to 
ascertain what were the walks of his mysterious charmer. She 
never went out, however, except to mass, when she was accom- 
panied by her father. He waited at the door of the church, and 
offered her the holy water, in the hopes of touching her hand ; a 
little office of gallantry common in Catholic countries. She mod- 
estly declined, without raising her eyes to see who made the offer, 
and always took it herself from the font. She was attentive in 
her devotion ; her eyes were never taken from the altar or the 
priest ; and on returning home, her countenance was almost 
entirely concealed by her mantilla. 

Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several days, and 
was hourly getting more and more interested in the chase, but 
never a step nearer to the game. His lurkings about the house 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 175 



had probably been noticed, for he no longer saw the fair face at 
the window, nor the white arm put forth to water the flowers. 
Ills only consolation was to repair nightly to his post of observa- 
tion and listen to her warbling, and if by chance he could catch a 
sight of her shadow, passing and repassing before the window he 
thought himself most fortunate. 

As he was indulging in one of these evening vigils, which 
were complete revels of the imagination, the sound of approach- 
mg footsteps made him withdraw into the deep shadow of tb.3 
ruined archway, opposite to the tower. A cavalier approached, 
wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window 
of- the tower, and after a little while began a serenade, accompa- 
nied by his guitar, in the usual style of Spanish gallantry. His 
voice was rich and manly ; he touched the instrument with skill, 
and sang with amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume 
of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled in the moon- 
beams ; and, as he played on the guitar, his cloak falling off from 
one shoulder showed him to be richly dressed. He was evi- 
dently a person of rank. 

The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the affections 
of his unknown beauty might be engaged. She was young, and 
doubtless susceptible ; and it was not in the nature of Spanish 
females to be deaf and insensible to music and admiration. The 
surmise brought with it a feeling of dreariness. There was a 
pleasant dream of several days suddenly dispelled. He had 
never before experienced any thing of the tender passion ; and, 
as its morning dreams are always delightful, he would fain have 
continued in the delusion. 

" But what have I to do with her attachments ?" thought he 
** I have no claim on her heart, nor even on her acquaintance. 



176 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



How do I know that she is worthy of affection? Or if slie 
is, must not so gallant a lover as this, with his jewels, his 
rank, and his detestable music, have completely captivated her? 
What idle humor is this that I have fallen into ? I must again 
to my books. Study, study will soon chase away all these idle 
fancies !" 

The more he thought, however, the more he became entan- 
gled in the spell which his lively imagination had ^voven round 
Lim ; and now that a rival had appeared, in addition to tiie other 
obstacles that environed this enchanted beauty, she appeared ten 
times more lovely and desirable. It was some slight consolation 
to him to perceive that the gallantry of the unknown met with no 
apparent return from the tower. The light at the window was 
extinguished. The curtain remained undrawn, and none of the 
customary signals were given to intimate that the serenade was 
accepted. 

The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, and sang 
several other tender airs with a taste and feeling that made 
Antonio's heart ache ; at length he slowly retired. The student 
remained with folded arms, leaning against the ruined arch, 
endeavoring to summon up resolution to depart ; but a romantic 
fascination still enchained him to the place. " It is the last time," 
said he, willing to compromise between his feelings and his judg- 
ment, " it is the last time ; then let me enjoy the dream a few 
moments longer." 

As his eye ranged about the old building to take a farewell 
look, he observed the strange light in the tower, which he had 
noticed on a former occasion. It kept beaming up, and declining 
as before. A pillar of smoke rose in the air, and hung in sable 
Volumes. It was evident the old man was busied in some of 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 177 



those operations which had gained him the reputation of a sorce- 
rer throughout the neighborhood. 

Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through the 
rasement, followed by a loud report, and then a fierce and ruddy 
glow. A figure appeared at the wuidow, uttering cries of agony 
or alarm, but immediately disappeared, and a body of smoke and 
flame whirled out of the narrow aperture. Antonio rushed to 
the portal, and knocked at it with vehemence. He was only 
answered by loud shrieks, and found that the females were 
already in helpless consternation. With an exertion of desperate 
strength he forced the wicket from its hinges, and rushed into the 
house. 

He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and by the light of 
the moon which entered at the door, he saw a staircase to the 
left. He hurried up it to a narrow corridor, through which Avas 
rolling a volume of smoke. He found here the two females in a 
frantic state of alarm ; one of them clasped her hands, and im- 
plored him to save her father. 

The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, leading up 
to the tower. He sprang up it to a small door, through the chinks 
of which came a glow of light, and smoke was spuming out. He 
burst it open, and found himself in an antique vaulted chamber, 
furnished with furnace, and various chemical apparatus. A shat- 
tered retort lay on the stone floor ; a quantity of combustibles, 
nearly consumed, with various half-burnt books and papers, were 
sending up an expiring flame, and filling the chamber with stifling 
smoke. Just within the threshold lay the reputed conjurer. He 
was bleeding, his clothes were scorched, and he appeared lifeless. 
Antonio caught him up, and bore him down the stairs to a cham- 
ber in which there was a light, and laid him on a bed. The fe- 

8* 



178 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



male domestic was dispatched for such appliances as the house 
afforded ; but the daughter threw herself frantically beside her 
parent, and could not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress 
was all in disorder ; her disheveled hair hung in rich confusion 
about her neck and bosom, and never was there beheld a lovelier 
picture of terror and affliction. 

The skillful assiduities of the scholar soon produced signs of 
returning animation in his patient. The old man's wounds, though 
severe, were not dangerous. They had evidently been produced 
by the bursting of the retort ; in his bewilderment he had been 
enveloped in the stifling metallic vapors which had overpowered 
his feeble frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assistance, it 
is possible he might never have recovered. 

By slow degrees he came to his senses. He looked about 
with a bewildered air at the chamber, the agitated group around, 
and the student who was leaning over him. 

" Where am I ?" said he, wildly. 

At the sound of his voice his daughter uttered a faint excla- 
mation of delight. " My poor Inez !" said he, embracing her ; 
then putting his hand to his head, and taking it away stained with 
blood, he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and to be overcome 
with emotion. 

" Ah !" cried he, "all is over with me ! all gone ! all vanished ! 
gone in a moment ! the labor of a lifetime lost !" 

His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he became slightly 
delirious, and raved incoherently about malignant demons, and 
about the habitation of the green lion being destroyed. His 
wounds being dressed, and such other remedies administered as 
his situation required, he sunk into a state of quiet. Antonio 
now turned his attention to the daughter, whose sufferings had 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 17<> 



been little inferior to those of her father. Having with great diffi- 
culty succeeded in tranquilizing her fears, he endeavored to pre- 
vail upon her to retire, and seek the repose so necessary to her 
frame, proffering to remain by her father until morning. " I am 
a stranger," said he, " it is true, and my offer ma,y appear intru- 
sive ; but I see you are lonely and helpless, and I cannot help 
venturing over the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel 
any scruple or doubt, however, say but a word, and I will instantly 
retire." 

There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty mingled in 
Antonio's deportment which inspired instant confidence ; and his 
simple scholar's garb was a recommendation in the house of 
poverty. The females consented to resign the sufferer to his care, 
as they would be the better able to attend to him on the morrow. 
On retiring, the old domestic was profuse in her benedictions ; the 
daughter only looked her thanks ; but as they shone through the 
tears that filled her fine black eyes, the student thought them a 
thousand times the most eloquent. 

Here, then, he v/as, by a singular turn of chance, completely 
housed within this mysterious mansion. When left to himself, 
and the bustle of the scene was over, his heart throbbed as he 
looked round the chamber in which he was sitting. It was the 
daughter's room, the promised land toward which he had cast so 
many a longing gaze. The furniture was old, and had probably 
belonged to the building in its prosperous days ; but every thing 
vras arranged with propriety. The flowers which he had seen her 
attend stood in the window; a guitar leaned against a table, on 
which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal and a rosary. 
There reigned an air of purity and serenity about this little nest- 
ling place of innocence ; it was the emblem of a chaste and quiet 



ISO BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



mind. Some few aiticles of female dress lay on the chairs ; and 
there was the very bed on which she had slept; the pillow on 
which hei soft cheek had reclined ! The poor scholar was tread- 
ing enchanted ground ; for what fairy land has more magic m it 
than the bedchamber of innocence and beauty? 

From various expressions of the old man in his "ravings, and 
from what he had noticed on a subsequent visit to the tower, to 
see that the fire was extinguished, Antonio had gathered that his 
patient was an alchemist. The philosopher's stone was an object 
eagerly sought after by visionaries in those days ; but in conse- 
quence of the superstitiows prejudices of the times, and the fre- 
quent persecutions of its votaries, they were apt to pursue their 
experiments in secret ; in lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or 
in the privacy of cloistered cells. 

In the course of the night the old man had several fits of rest- 
lessness and delirum ; he would call out upon Th,eophrastus, and 
Geber, and Albertus Magnus, and other sages of his art ; and anon 
would murmur about fermentation and projection, until, toward 
daylight, he once more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the 
morning sun darted his rays into the casement, the fair Inez, at- 
tended by the female domestic, came blushing into the chamber. 
The student now took his leave, having himself need of repose, 
but obtained ready permission to return and inquire after the suf 
ferer. 

When he called again, he found the alchemist languid and in 
pain, but apparently suffering more in mind than in body. His 
delirium had left him, and he had been informed of the particulars 
of his deliverance and of the subsequent attentions of the scholar. 
He could do little more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not 
require them ; his own heart repaid him for all that he had done, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 181 



and he almost rejoiced in the disaster that had gained him an en- 
trance into this mysterious habitation. The alchemist was so 
helpless as to need much assistance ; Antonio remair Bd with him^ 
therefore, the greater part of the day. He repeated his visit the 
next day, and the next. Every day his company vSOemed more 
pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt his interest in the 
latter increasing. Perhaps the presence of the daughter might 
have been at the bottom of this solicitude. 

He had frequent and long conversations with the alchemist. 
He found him, as men of his pursuits were apt to be, a mixture 
of enthusiasm and simplicity ; of curious and extensive reading 
on points of little utility, with great inattention to the every-day 
occurrences of life, and profound ignorance of the world. He 
was deeply versed in singular and obscure branches of knowledge, 
and much given to visionary speculations. Antonio, whose mind 
was of a romantic cast, had himself given some attention to the 
occult sciences, and he entered upon these themes with an ardor 
that delighted the philosopher. Their conversations frequently 
turned upon astrology, divination, and the great secret. The old 
man would forget his aches and wounds, rise up like a spectre in 
his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his favorite topics. When 
gently admonished of his situation, it would but prompt him to 
another sally of thought. 

"Alas, my son !" he would say, "is not this very decrepitude 
and suffering another proof of the importance of those secrets 
with which we are surrounded? Why are we trammeled by 
disease, withered by old age, and our spirits quenched, as it were, 
within us, but because we have lost those secrets of life and youth 
which were known to our parents before their fall ? To regain 
these have philosophers been ever since aspiring ; but just as they 



182 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



are on the point of securing the precious secrets for ever, the 
brief period of life is at an end ; they die, and with them all their 
wisdom and experience. ' Nothing,' as De Nuysment observes, 
* nothing is wanting for man's perfection but a longer life, less 
crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attaining cf the full and 
perfect knowledge of things.' " 

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of his patient, a« 
to dravz from him the outlines of his stoiy. 

Felix de Yasques, the alchemist, was a native of Castile, and 
of an ancient and honorable line. Early in life he h^.d married a 
beautiful female, a descendant from one of the Moorish families. 
The marriage displeased his father, who considered the pure 
Spanish blood contaminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, 
the lady traced her descent from one of the Abencerrages, the 
most gallant of Moorish cavaliers, who had embraced the Chris- 
tian faith on being exiled from the walls of Grenada. The in- 
jured pride of the father, however, was not to be appealed. He 
never saw his son afterwards ; and on dying left him but a scanty 
portion of his estate ; bequeathing the residue, in the piety and 
bitterness of his heart, to the erection of convents, and the per- 
formance of masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix resided 
for a long time in the neighborhood of Yalladolid, in a state of 
embarrassment and obscurity. He devoted himself to intense 
study, having, while at the university of Salamanca, imbibed a 
taste for the secret sciences. He was enthusiastic and specula- 
tive ; he went on from one branch of knowledge to another, until 
he became zealous in the search after the grand Arcanum. 

He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the hopes of raising 
himself from his present obscurity, and resuming the rank and 
dignity to which his birth entitled him ; but, as usual, it ended in 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 183 



absorbing every thought, and becoming the business of his exist- 
ence. He was at length aroused from this mental abstraction by 
the calamities of his household. A malignant fever swept off his 
wifie and all his children, excepting an infant daughter. These 
losses for a time overwhelmed and stupefied him. His home had 
in a manner died away from around him, and he felt lonely and 
forlorn. When his spirit revived within him, he determined to 
abandon the scene of his humiliation and disaster ; to bear away 
the child that was still left him, beyond the scene of contagion, and 
never to return to Castile until he should be enabled to reclaim 
the honors of his line. 

He had ever since been v/andering and unsettled in his abode. 
Sometimes the resident of populous cities, at other times of abso- 
lute solitudes. He had searched libraries, meditated on inscrip- 
tions, visited adepts of different countries, and sought to gather 
and concentrate the rays which had been thrown by various minds 
upon the secrets of alchemy. He had at one time traveled quite 
to Padua to search for the manuscripts of Pietro d' Abano, and to 
inspect an urn which had been dug up near Este, supposed to 
have been buried by Maximus Olybius, and to have contained the 
grand elixir.* 

* This urn was found in 1533. It contained a lesser one, in which was a 
burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the one of gold, the other of silver, both 
of them full of a very clear liquor. On the largest was an inscription stating 
that Maximus Olybius shut up in this small vessel elements which he had pre- 
pared with great toil. There were many disquisitions among the learned on 
the subject. It was the most received opinion that this Maximus Olybius was an 
inhabitant of Padua ; that he had discovered the great secret, and that these vessels 
contained liquor, one to transmute metals to gold, the other to silver. The pea- 
sants who found the urns, imagining this precious liquor to be common water, spiU 
fvery drop, so ihat the art of transmuting metals remains as much a secret as ever 



l84 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 



While at Padua he met with an adept versed m Arabian lore, 
who talked of the invaluable manuscripts that must remain in the 
Spanish libraries, preserved from the spoils of the Moorish acade- 
mies and universities ; of the probability of meeting with precious 
unpublished writings of Geber, and Alfarabius, and Avicenna, the 
great physicians of the Arabian schools, who, it was well known, 
had treated much of alchemy ; but, above all, he spoke of the 
Arabian tablets of lead, which had recently been dug up in tne 
neighborhood of Grenada, and which, it was confidently believed 
among adepts, contained the lost secrets of the art. 

The indefatigable alchemist once more bent his steps for 
Spain, full of renovated hope. He had made his way to Gre- 
nada : he had wearied himself in the study of Arabic, in deci- 
phering inscriptions, in rummaging libraries,' and exploring every 
possible trace left by the Arabian sages. 

In all his wanderings he had been accompanied by Inez ; 
through the rough and the smooth, the pleasant and the adverse ; 
never complaining, but rather seeking to soothe his cares by her 
innocent and playful caresses. Her instruction had been the 
employment and the delight of his hours of relaxation. She had 
grown up while they were wandering, and had scarcely ever 
known any home but by his side. He was family, friends, home, 
every thing to her. He had carried her in his arms w^hen they 
first began their wayfaring ; had nestled her, as an eagle does its 
young, among the rocky heights of the Sierra Morena ; she had 
Imported about him in childhood in the solitudes of the Bateucas ; 
had followed him, as a lamb does the shepherd, over ^he rugged 
Pyrenees, and into the fair plains of Languedoc ; and now she 
was grown up to support his feeble steps among the ruined abodes 
of her maternal ancestors. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 1S5 



His property had gradually wasted away in the course of hia 
travels and his experiments. Still hope, the constant attendant 
of the alchemist, had led him on ; ever on the point of reaping 
the reward of his labors, and ever disappointed. With the cre- 
duKty that of^en attended his art, he attributed many of his dis- 
appointments to the machinations of the malignant spirits which 
beset the path of the alchemist, and torment him in his solitary 
labors. " It is their constant endeavor," he observed, " to close 
up every avenue to those sublime truths, which would enable 
man to rise above the abject state into which he has fallen, and to 
return to his original perfection." To the evil offices of these 
demons he attributed his late disaster. He had been on the very 
verge of the glorious discovery ; never were the indications more 
completely auspicious ; all was going on prosperously, when, at 
the critical moment which should have crowned his labors with 
success, and have placed him at the very summit of human power 
and felicity, the bursting of a retort had reduced his laboratory 
and himself to ruins. 

"I must now," said he, " give up at the very threshold of suc- 
cess. My books and papers are burnt ; my apparatus is broken. 
I am too old to bear up against these evils. The ardor that once 
inspired me is gone ; my poor frame is exhausted by study and 
watchfulness, and this last misfortune has hurried me towards the 
grave." He concluded in a tone of deep dejection. Antonio 
endeavored to comfort and reassure him ; but the poor alchemist 
had for once awakened to a consciousness of the worldly ills 
gathering around him, and had sunk into despondency. After a 
pause, and some thoughtfulness and perplexity of brow, Antonio 
ventured to make a proposal. 

" I have long," said he, " been filled with a love for the secret 



»86 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



sciences, but have felt too ignorant and diffident to give myself 
up to them. You have acquired experience; you have amassed 
the knowledge of a lifetime ; it were a pity it should be thrown 
aAvay. You say you are too old to renew the toils of the labora- 
tory ; suffer me to undertake them. Add your knowledge to my 
youth and activity, and what shall we not accomplish? As a 
probationary fee, and a fund on which to proceed, I will bring 
into the common stock a sum of gold, the residue of a legacy, 
which has enabled me to complete my education. A poor scholar 
cannot boast much ; but I trust we shall soon put ourselves 
be/ond the reach of want; and if we should fail, why I must 
depend, like other scholars, upon my brains to carry me through 
the world." 

The philosopher's spirits, however, were more depressed than 
the student had imagined. This last shock, following in the rear 
of so many disappointments, had almost destroyed the reaction of 
his mind. The fire of an enthusiast, however, is never so low, 
but that it may be blown again into a flame. By degrees the old 
man was cheered and reanimated by the buoyancy and ardor of 
his sanguine companion. He at length agreed to accept of the 
services of the student, and once more to renew his experiments. 
He objected, however, to using the student's gold, notwithstanding 
his own was nearly exhausted; but this objection. was soon over- 
come ; the student insisted on making it a common stock and 
common cause ; — and then how absurd was any delicacy about 
such a trifle, with men who looked forward to discovering the 
philosopher's stone ! 

While, therefore, the alchemist was slowly recovering, the 
student busied himself in getting the laboratory once more in 
order. It was strewed with the wrecks of retorts and alembics, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 187 



with old crucibles, boxes and pliials of powders and tinctures, and 
half-burnt books and manuscripts. 

As soon as the old man was sufficiently recovered, the studies 
and experiments were renewed. The student became a privi- 
leged and frequent visitor, and was indefatigable in his toils in 
the laboratory. The philosopher daily derived new zeal and 
spirits from the animation of his disciple. He was now enabled 
to prosecute the enterprise with continued exertion, having so 
active a coadjutor to divide the toil. While he was poring over 
the writings of Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominus de 
Nuysment, and endeavoring to comprehend the symbolical lan- 
guage in which they have locked up their mysteries, Antonio 
would occupy himself among the retorts and crucibles, and keep 
the furnace in a perpetual glow. 

With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the golden 
art, the feelings of the student had not cooled as to the object 
that first drew him to this ruinous mansion. During the old 
man's illness, he had frequent opportunities of being near the 
daughter ; and every day made him more sensible to her charms. 
There was a pure simplicity, and an almost passive gentleness in 
her manners; yet with all this was mingled something, whether 
mere maiden shyness, or a consciousness of high descent, or a 
dash of Castilian pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented 
undue familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. The dan- 
ger of her father, and the measures to be taken for his relief, had 
at first overcome this coyness and reserve ; but as he recovered 
and her alarm subsided, she seemed to shrink from the familiarity 
she had indulged with the youthful stranger, and to become every 
day more shy and silent. 

Antonio had read many books, but this was the first volume 



18S BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of womankind that he had ever studied. He had been captivated 
with the very title-page ; but the further he read the more he 
was delighted. She seemed formed to love ; her soft black eye 
rolled languidly under its long silken lashes, and wherever it 
turned, it would linger and repose ; there was tenderness in every 
beam. To him alone she was reserved and distant. Now that 
the common cares of the sick-room were at an end, he saw little 
more of her than before his admission to the house. Sometimes 
he met her on his way to and from the laboratory, and at such 
times there was ever a smile and a blush ; but, after a simple 
salutation, she glided on and disappeared. 

" 'Tis plain," thought Antonio, " my presence is indifferent, 
if not irksome to her. She has noticed my admiration, and is 
d'Ctermined to discourage it ; nothing but a feeling of gratitude 
prevents her treating me with marked distaste — and then has she not 
another lover, rich, gallant, splendid, musical ? how can I suppose 
she would turn her eyes from so brilliant a cavalier, to a poor ob- 
scure student, raking among the cinders of her father's laboratory?" 

Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader continually haunted 
his mind. He felt convinced that he was a favored lover ; yet, 
if so, why did he not frequent the tower ?_ Why did he not make 
his approaches by noonday ? There was mystery in this eaves- 
dropping and musical courtship. Surely Inez could not be en- 
couraging a secret intrigue ! Oh, no 1 she was too artless, too 
pure, too ingenuous ! But then the Spanish females were so 
prone to love and intrigue ; and music and moonlight were so 
seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul languic^hing in every 
look. — " Oh !" would the poor scholar exclaim, clasping his hands, 
" Oh that I could but once behold those loving eyes beaming on 
me with affection !" 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA 189 



It is incredible to those who have not experienced it, ors* ^vhat 
scanty aliment human life and human love may be supported. A 
dry crust, thrown now and then to a starving man, will give him 
a new lease of existence ; and a faint smile, or a kind look, be- 
stowed at casual intervals, will keep a lover loving on, when a 
man in his sober senses would despair. 

When Antonio found himself alone in the laboratory, his mind 
would be haunted by one of these looks, or smiles, which he ^d 
received in passing. He would set it in every possible light, and 
argue on it with all the self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a lover. 

The country around was enough to awaken that voluptuous- 
ness of feeling so favorable to the growth of passion. The win- 
dow of the tv.Aver rose above the trees of the romantic valley of 
the Darro, and looked down upon some of the loveliest scenery 
of the Vega, where groves of citron and orange were refreshed 
by cool springs and brooks of the purest water. The Xenel and 
the Darro wound their shining streams along the plain, and 
gleamed from among its bowers. The surrounding hills were 
covered with vineyards, and the mountains, crowned with snow, 
seemed to melt into the blue sky. The delicate airs that played 
about the tower were perfumed by the fragrance of myrtle and 
orange blossoms, and the ear was charmed with the fond warbling 
of the nightingale, which, in these happy regions, sings the whole 
day long. Sometimes, too, there was the idle song of the mule- 
teer, sauntering along the solitary road ; or the notes of the 
guitar from some group of peasants dancing in the shade. All 
these were enough to fill the head of a young lover with poetic 
fancies ; and Antonio would picture to himself how he could 
loiter among those happy groves, and wander by those gentle 
rivers, and love away his life with Inez. 



190 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, and would 
endeavor to brush away these cobwebs of the mind. He would 
turn his thought, with sudden effort, to his occult studies, or oc- 
cupy himself in some perplexing process ; but often, when he 
had partially succeeded in fixing his attention, the sound of Inez' 
lute, or the soft notes of her voice, would come stealing upon the 
stillness of the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the tower. 
There was no great art in her performance ; but Antonio thought 
he had never heard music comparable to this. It was perfect 
witchcraft to hear her warble forth some of her national melodies ; 
those little Spanish romances and Moorish ballads which trans- 
port the hearer, in idea, to the banks of the Guadalquiver, or the 
walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream of beauties, and 
balconies, and moonlight serenades. 

Never was poor student more sadly beset than Antonio. 
Love is a troublesome companion in a study at the best of times ; 
but in the laboratory of an alchemist his intrusion is terribly dis- 
astrous. Instead of attending to the retorts and crucibles, and 
watching the process of some experiment intrusted to his charge, 
the student would get entranced in one of these love-dreams, from 
which he would often be aroused by some fatal catastrophe. The 
philosopher, on returning from his researches in the libraries, 
would find every thing gone wrong, and Antonio in despair over 
the ruins of the whole day's work. The old man, however, took 
all quietly, for his had been a life of experiment and failure. 

" We must have patience, my son," would he say, " as all the 
rreat masters that have gone before us have had. Errors, and 
accidents, and delays, are wliat we have to contend ^vith. Did 
not Pontanus err two hundred times before he could obtain even 
the matter on which to found his experiments ? The grea* Fla- 



THE STUDENT OP SALAMANCA. 191 



mel, too, did he not labor four-and-twenty years, before he ascer- 
tained the first agent ? What difficulties and hardships did not 
Cartilaceus encounter, at the very threshold of his discoveries ? 
And Bernard de Treves, even after he had attained a knowledge 
of all the requisites, was he not delayed full three years ? What 
you consider accidents, my son, are the machinations of cur invisi- 
ble enemies. The treasures and golden secrets of nature are 
surrounded by spirits hostile to man. The air about us teems 
with them. They lurk in the fire of the furnace, in the bottom 
of the crucible and the alembic, and are ever on the alert to take 
advantage of those moments when our minds are wandering from 
intense meditation on the great truth that we are seeking. We 
must only strive the more to purify ourselves from those gross 
and earthly feelings which becloud the soul, and prevent her from 
piercing into nature's arcana." 

" Alas !" thought Antonio, " if to be purified from all earthly 
feeling requires that I should cease to love Inez, I fear I shall 
never discover the philosopher's stone !" 

In this way matters went on for some time at the alchemist's. 
Day after day was sending the student's gold in vapor up the 
chimney ; every blast of the furnace made him a ducat the poorer, 
without apparently helping him a jot nearer to the golden secret. 
Still the young man stood by, and saw piece after piece disappear 
ing without a murmur : he had daily an opportunity of seeing 
Inez, and felt as if her favor would be better than silver or gold, 
and that every smile was worth a ducat. 

Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when the toils of the 
laboratory happened to be suspended, he would walk with the 
alchemist in what had once been a garden belonging to the man- 
sion. There were still the remains of terraces and balustrade ji, 



192 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

and here and there a marble urn, or mutilated statue overturned, 
and buried among weeds and flowers run wild. It was the favor- 
ite resort of the alchemist in his hours of relaxation, where he 
would give full scope to his visionary flights. His mind was 
tinctured with the Rosicrucian doctrines. He believed in ele- 
mentary beings ; some favorable, others adverse to his pursuits ; 
and in the exaltation of his fancy, had often imagined that he 
held communion with them in his solitary walks about the whis- 
pering groves and echoing walls of this old garden. 

When accompanied by Antonio, he would prolong these eve- 
ning recreations. Indeed, he sometimes did it out of considera- 
tion for his disciple, for he feared lest his too close application, 
and his incessant seclusion in the tower, should be injurious to his 
health. He was delighted and surprised by this extraordinary 
zeal and perseverance in so young a tyro, and looked upon him 
as destined to be one of the great luminaries of the art. Lest 
the student should repine at the time lost in these relaxations, the 
good alchemist would fill them up with wholesome knowledge, in 
matters connected with their pursuits ; and would walk up and 
down the alleys with his disciple, imparting oral instruction like 
an ancient philosopher. In all his visionary schemes there 
breathed a spirit of lofty, though chimerical philanthropy, that 
won the admiration of the scholar. Nothing sordid, nor sensual ; 
nothing petty nor selfish seemed to enter into his views, in respect 
to the grand discoveries he was anticipating. On the contrary 
his imagination kindled with conceptions of widely dispensated 
happiness. He looked forward to the time when he should be 
able to go about the earth relieving the indigent, comforting the 
distressed ; and, by his unlimited means, devising and executing 
plans for the complete extirpation of poverty, and all its a' ^ndant 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 193 



suflTerings and crimes. Never were grander schemes for general 
crood, for the distribution of boundless wealth and universal com- 
petence, devised, than by this poor, intiigent alchemist in his 
ruined tower. 

Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures with all the 
ardor of a devotee ; but there was another circumstance which 
may have given a secret charm to them. The garden was the 
resort also of Inez, where she took her walks of recreation ; the 
only exercise her secluded life permitted. As Antonio was du 
teously pacing by the side of his instructor, he would often catch a 
glimpse of the daughter, walking pensively about the alleys in the 
soft twilight. Sometimes they would meet her unexpectedly, and 
the heart of the student would throb with agitation. A blush, 
too, would crimson the cheek of Inez, but still she passed on, and 
never joined them. 

He had remained one evening, until rather a late hour, with 
the alchemist in this favorite resort. It was a deliorhtful nio-ht 
after a sultry day, and the balmy air of the garden was peculiarly 
reviving. The old man was seated on a fragment of a pedestal, 
looking like a part of the ruin on which he sat. He was edifying 
his pupil by long lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone 
out with brilliant lustre in the dark blue vault of a southern sky ; 
for he was deeply versed in Behmen, and other of the Eosi- 
crucians, and talked much of the signature of earthly things, and 
passing events, which may be discerned in the heavens ; of the 
power of the stars over corporeal beings, and their influence on 
the fortunes of the sons of men. 

By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming light among 
the groves. Antonio apparently listened with fixed attention 
to the sage, but his ear was drinking in the melody of Inez' 

a 



194 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



voice, who was singing to her lute in one of the moonlight gladea 
of the garden. The old man having exhausted his theme, sat 
gazing in silent reverie at the heavens. Antonio could not resist 
an inclination to steal a look at this coy beauty, who was thus 
playing the part of the nightingale, so sequestered and musicah 
Leaving the alchemist in his celestial reverie, he stole gently along 
one of the alleys. The music had ceased, and he thought he 
heard the sound of voices. He came to an angle of a copse 
that had screened a kind of green recess, ornamented by a mar- 
ble fountain. The moon shone full upon the place, and by its 
light, he beheld his unknown serenading rival at the feet of Inez. 
He was detaining her by the hand, which he covered with kisses ; 
but at sight of Antonio he started up and half drew his sword, 
while Inez, disengaged, fled back to the house. 

All tlfe jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were now con 
firmed. He did not remain to encounter the resentment of his 
happy rival at being thus interrupted, but turned from the place 
in sudden wretchedness of heart. That Inez should love another 
would have been misery enough ; but that she should be capable 
of a dishonorable amour, shocked him to the soul. The idea of 
deception in so young and apparently artless a being, brought with 
it that sudden distrust in human nature, so sickening to a youth- 
ful and ingenuous mind ; but when he thought of the kind, simple 
parent she was deceiving, whose affections all centred in her, he 
felt for a moment a sentiment of indignation, and almost of aver- 
sion. 

He found the alchemist still seated in his visionary contempla- 
tion of the moon. " Come hither, my son," said he, with his usual 
enthusiasm, " come, read with me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus 
nightly unfolded for our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean sages 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 195 



affirm, that the heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to those 
who can rightly understand ; warning them of good and evil, and 
instructing them in the secret decrees of fate." 

The student's heart ached for his venerable master ; and, for 
a moment, he felt the futility of all his occult wisdom. " Alas ! 
poor old man !" thought he, " of what avails all thy study ? Lit- 
tle dost thou dream, while busied in airy speculations among the 
stars, what a treason against thy happiness is going on under thine 
eyes; as it were, in thy very bosom ! — Oh Inez! Inez! where 
shall we look for truth and innocence ; w^here shall we repose con- 
fidence in woman, if even you can deceive ?" 

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes when he 
finds his mistress not quite such a goddess as he had painted her. 
With the student, however, it sprang from honest anguish of heart. 
He returned to his lodgings in pitiable confusion of mind. He 
now deplored the infatuation which had led him on until his feel- 
ings were so thoroughly engaged. He resolved to abandon his 
pursuits at the tower, and trust to absence to dispel the fascination 
by which he had been spell-bound. He no longer thirsted after 
the discovery of the grand elixir : the dream of alchemy was 
over ; for without Inez, what was the value of the philosopher's 
stone ? 

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determination of taking 
his leave of the alchemist, and tearing himself from Grenada. 
For several days did he rise with the same resolution, and every 
night saw him come back to his pillow to repine at his want of re- 
solution, and to make fresh determinations for the morrow. In 
the meanwhile he saw less of Inez than ever. She no longer 
walked in the gar \eu, but remained almost entirely in her apart- 
ment. When she met him, she blushed more than usual ; and 



196 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



once hesitated, as if she would have spoken ; but after a tempo- 
rary embarrassment, and still deeper blushes, she made some 
casual observation, and retired. Antonio read, in this confusion, 
a consciousness of fault, and of that fault's being discovered. 
" What could she have wished to communicate ? Perhaps to ac- 
count for the scene in the garden ; — but how can she account for 
it, or why should she account for it to me ? "What am I to her ? — 
or rather, what is she to me T' exclaimed he, impatiently ; with a 
new resolution to break through these entanglements of the heart, 
and fly from this enchanted spot for ever. 

He was returning that very night to his lodgings, full of this 
excellent determination, when, in a shadowy part of the road, he 
passed a person whom he recognized, by his height and form, for 
his rival : he was going in the direction of the tower. If any 
lingering doubts remained, here was an opportunity of settling 
them completely. He determined to follow this unknown cava- 
lier, and, under favor of the darkness, observe his movements. 
If he obtained access to the tower, or in any way a favorable re- 
ception, Antonio felt as if it would be a relief to his mind, and 
would enable him to fix his wavering resolution. 

The unknown, as he came near the tower, was more cautious 
and stealthy in his approaches. He was joined under a clump of 
trees by another person, and they had much whispering together. 
A light was burning in the chamber of Inez, the curtain was 
down, but the casement was left open, as the night was warm. 
After some time, the light was extinguished. A considerable in- 
terval elapsed. The cavalier and his companion remained under 
covert of the trees, as if keeping watch. At length they ap- 
proached the tower with silent and cautious steps. The cavalier 
received a dark lantern from his companion, and threw off his 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 197 



cloak. The other then softly brought something from the clump 
of trees, which Antonio perceived to be a light ladder: he placed 
it against the wall, and the serenader gently ascended. A sick- 
ening sensation came over Antonio. Here was indeed a confirma- 
tion of every fear. He was about to leave the place, never to 
return, when he heard a stifled shriek from Inez' chamber. 

In an instant the fellow that stood at the foot of the ladder 
lay prostrate on the ground. Antonio wrested a stiletto from his 
nerveless hand, and hurried up the ladder. He sprang in at the 
window, and found Inez struggling in the grasp of his fancied 
rival : the latter, disturbed from his prey, caught up his lantern, 
turned its light full upon Antonio, and drawing his sword, made 
a furious assault ; luckily the student saw the light gleam along 
the blade, and parried the thrust with the stiletto. A fierce, but 
unequal combat ensued. Antonio fought exposed to the full glare 
of the light, while his antagonist was in shadow : his stiletto, too, 
was but a poor defence against a rapier. He saw that nothing 
would save him, but closing with his adversary, and getting 
within his w^eapon : he rushed furiously upon him, and gave him 
a severe blow with the stiletto ; but received a wound in return 
from the shortened sword. At the same moment a blow w^as 
inflicted from behind, by the confederate, who had ascended the 
ladder ; it felled him to the floor, and his antagonists made their 
escape. 

By this time the cries of Inez had brought her father and the 
domestic to the room. Antonio was found weltering in his blocd, 
and senseless. He was conveyed to the chamber of the alche- 
mist, who now repaid in kind the attentions which the student 
had once bestowed upon him. Among his varied knowledge he 
possessed some skill in surgery, which at this moment was of 



198 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

more value than even his chemical lore. He stanched and 
dressed the wounds of his disciple, which on examination proved 
less desperate than he had at first apprehended. For a few days, 
however, his case was anxious, and attended with danger. The 
old man watched over him with the affection of a parent. He 
felt a double debt of gratitude towards him on account of his 
daughter and himself; he loved him too as a faithful and zealous 
disciple ; and he dreaded lest the world should be deprived of the 
promising talents of so aspiring an alchemist. 

An excellent constitution soon medicined his wourds; and 
there was a balsam in the looks and words of Inez, that had a 
healing effect on the still severer wounds which he carried in his 
heart. She displayed the strongest interest in his safety ; she 
called him her deliverer, her preserver. It seemed as if her 
grateful disposition sought, in the warmth of its acknowledgments, 
to repay him for past coldness. But what most contributed to 
Antonio's recovery, was her explanation concerning his supposed 
rival. It was some time since he had first beheld her at church, 
and he had ever since persecuted her with his attentions. He 
had beset her in her walks, until she had been obliged to confine 
herself to the house, except when accompanied by her father. 
He had besieged her with letters, serenades, and every art by 
which he could urge a vehement, but clandestine and dishonora- 
ble suit. The scene in the garden was as much of a surprise to 
her as to Antonio. Her persecutor had been attracted by her 
voice, and had found his way over a ruined part of the wall. He 
had come upon her unawares, was detaining her by force, and 
])lea(ling his insulting passion, when the appearance of the stu- 
dent interrupted him, and enabled her to make her escape. She 
had forborne to mention to her father the persecution which she 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 199 



guff-E red ; she wished to spare him unavailing anxiety and dis- 
tress, and had determined to confine herself more rigorously to 
tlie house ; though it appeared that even here ?he had not been 
safe from his daring enterprise. 

Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of this impetu- 
ous admirer ? She replied, that he had made his advances under 
a fictitious name ; but that she had heard him once called by the 
name of Don Ambrosio de Loxa. 

Antonio knew him, by report, for one of the most determined 
and dangerous libertines in all Grenada. Artful, accomplished, 
and, if he chose to be so, insinuating ; but daring and headlong 
in the pursuit of his pleasures ; violent and implacable in his 
resentments. He rejoiced to find that Inez had been proof against 
his seductions, and had been inspired Avith aversion by his splen- 
did profligacy ; but he trembled to think of the dangers she had 
run, and he felt solicitude about the dangers that must yet envi- 
ron her. 

At present, however, it was probable the enemy had a tempo- 
rary quietus. The traces of blood had been found for some dis- 
tance from the ladder, until they were lost among thickets ; and 
af nothing had been heard or seen of him since, it was concluded 
that he had been seriously wounded. 

As the student recovered from his wounds he was enabled to 
join Inez and her father in their domestic intercourse. The 
chamber in which they usually met had probably been a saloon 
of state in former times. The floor was of marble ; the walls 
were partially covered with remains of tapestry; the chairs, 
richly carved and gilt, were crazed with age, and covered with 
tarnished and tattered brocade. Against the wall hung a long, 
rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man retained of the 



200 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. 



chivalry of his ancestors. There might have been something to 
provoke a smile in the contrast between the mansion and its 
inhabitants ; between present poverty and the traces of departed 
grandeur ; but the fancy of the student had thrown so much 
romance about the edifice and its inmates, that every thing was 
clothed with charms. The philosopher, with his broken-down 
pride, and his strange pursuits, seemed to comport with the mel- 
ancholy ruin he inhabited ; and there ^vas a native elegance of 
spirit about the daughter that showed she would have graced the 
mansion in its happier days. 

What delicious moments were these to the student! Inez 
was no longer coy and reserved. She was naturally artless and 
confiding; though the kind of persecution she had experienced 
from one admirer had rendered her, for a time, suspicious and 
circumspect towards the other. She now felt an entire confidence 
in the sincerity and worth of Antonio, mingled with an overflow- 
ing gratitude. When her eyes met his, they beamed with sym- 
pathy and kindness ; and Antonio, no longer haunted by the idea 
of a favored rival, once more aspired to success. 

At these domestic meetings, however, he had little opportunity 
of paying his court, except by looks. The alchemist, supposing 
him, like himself, absorbed in the study of alchemy, endeavored 
to cheer the tediousness of his recovery by long conversations on 
the art. He even brought several of his half-burnt volumes, 
which the student had once rescued from the flames, and rewarded 
liim for their preservation by reading copious passages. He 
would entertain him with the great and good acts of Flarael, 
wl.ich he effected through means of the philosopher's stone, 
relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals, buiJ'ling 
churches, and what not ; or with the interrogatories of King 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 201 



Kalid, and the answers of Morienus, the R-oman hermit of 
Hierusalem ; or the profound questions which Elardus, a necro- 
mancer of the province of Catalonia, put to the devil, touching 
the secrets of alchemy, and the devil's replies. 

All these were couched in occult language, almost unintelligi- 
ble to the unpracticed ear of the disciple. Indeed, the old man 
delighted in the mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in which 
the writers that have treated of alchemy have wrapped ^heir 
communications; rendering them* incomprehensible except to the 
initiated. With what rapture would he elevate his voice at a 
triumphant passage, announcing the grand discovery ! " Thou 
shalt see," would he exclaim, in the words of Henry Kuhnrade,* 
" the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the bed- 
chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of this world ; 
that is to say, regenerated and made perfect, a shining carbuncle. 
a most temperate splendor, whose most subtle and dephurated 
parts are inseparable, united into one with a concordial mixture, 
exceeding equal, transparent as crystal, shining red like a ruby, 
permanently coloring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or tri- 
als ; yea, in the examination of the burning sulphur itself, and 
the devouring waters, and in the most vehement persecution of 
the fire, always incombustible and permanent as a salamander !" 

The student had a high veneration for the fathers of alche- 
my, and a profound respect for his instructor ; but what was 
Henry Kuhnrade, Geber, Lully, or even Albertus Magnus him- 
self, compared to the countenance of Inez, which presented such 
a page of beauty to his perusal ? While, therefore, the good 
alchemist was doling out knowledge by the hour, his disciple 
would forget books, alchemy, every thing but the lovely objecl 

* Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom. 

9* 



S02 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



before him. Inez, too, unpracticed in the science of the heart, 
was gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentions of her 
lover. Day by day she seemed more and more perplexed by the 
kindling and strangely pleasing emotions of her bosom. Her eye 
was often cast down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek with- 
out dny apparent cause, and light, half-suppressed sighs, would 
follow these short fits of musing. Her little ballads, though the 
same that she had always sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. 
Either the tones of her voice were more soft and touching, or 
some passages were delivered with a feeling which she had never 
before given them. Antonio, beside his love for the abstruse sci- 
ences, had a pretty turn for music ; and never did philosopher 
touch the guitar more tastefully. As, by degrees, he conquered 
the mutual embarrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured 
to accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full 
of fire and tenderness : as he sang, one would have thought, from 
the kindling blushes of his companion, that he had been pleading 
his own passion in her ear. Let those who w^ould keep two 
youthful hearts asunder beware of music. Oh ! this leaning over 
chairs, and conning the same music book, and entwining of voices, 
and melting away in harmonies ! — the German waltz is nothing 
to it. 

The worthy alchemist saw nothing of all this. His mind 
could admit of no idea that was not connected with the discovery 
of the grand arcanum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor 
equally devoted. He was a mere child as to human nature ; and, 
as to the passion of love, whatever he might once have felt of it, 
he had long since forgotten that there was such an idle passion in 
existence. But, while he dreamed, the silent amour went on. 
The very quiet and seclusion of the place were favorable to the 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA 203 



growth of romantic passion. The opening bud of love was able 
to put forth leaf bj leaf, without an adverse wind to check its 
growth. There was neither officious friendship to chill by its ad- 
vice, nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor an obserring 
world to look on and stare it out of countenance. There was 
neither declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid's cant- 
ing school. Their hearts mingled together, and understood each 
ether without the aid of language. They lapsed into the full cur- 
rent of affection, unconscious of its depth, and thoughtless of the 
rocks that might lurk beneath its surface. Happy lovers ! who 
wanted nothing to make their felicity complete, but the discovery 
of the philosopher's stone. 

At length Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to enable 
him to return to his lodgings in Grenada. He felt uneasy, how- 
ever, at leaving the tower, while lurking danger might surround 
its almost defenceless inmates. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, 
recovered from his wounds, might plot some new attempt, by 
secret art, or open violence. From all that he had heard, he 
knew him to be too implacable to suffer his defeat to pass una- 
venged, and too rash and fearless, when his arts were unavailing, 
to stop at any daring deed in the accomplishment of his purposes. 
He urged his apprehensions to the alchemist and his daughter, 
and proposed that they should abandon the dangerous vicinity of 
Grenada. 

" I have relations," said he, " in Valencia, poor indeed, but 
worthy and affectionate. Among them you will find friendship 
and quiet, and we may there pursue our labors unmolested." He 
went on to paint the beauties and delights of Valencia with all 
the fondness of a native, and all the eloquence with which a lover 
paints the fields and groves which he is picturing as the future 



204 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



scenes of his happiness. His eloquence, backed by thv5 appre- 
hensions of Inez, was successful with the alchemist, who, indeed, 
had led too unsettled a life to be particular about the place of his 
residence ; and it was determined, that, as soon as Antonio's 
health was perfectly restored, they should abandon the tower, and 
seek the delicious neighborhood of Valencia.* 

To recruit his strength, the student suspended his toils in the 
laboratory, and spent the few remaining days, before departure, 
in taking a farewell look at the enchanting environs of Grenada, 
He felt returning health and vigor as he inhaled the pure tern 
perate breezes that play about its hills ; and the happy state of 
his mind contributed to his rapid recovery. Inez was often the 
companion of his walks. Her descent, by the mother's side, from 
one of the ancient Moorish families, gave her an interest in this 
once favorite seat of Arabian power. She gazed with enthusiasm 
upon its magnificent monuments, and her memory was filled with 
the traditional tales and ballads of Moorish chivalry. Indeed, 
the solitary life she had led, and the visionary turn of her father's 
mind, had produced an effect upon her character, and given it a 
tinge of what, in modern days, would be termed romance. All 

* Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the excellent'st almonds, 
the best oyls and beautifuU'st females of all Spam. The very bruit animals 
make themselves beds of rosemary, and other fragrant flowers hereabouts ; and 
when one is at sea, if the winde blow from the shore, he may smell this soyl 
before he come in sight of it many leagues off, by the strong oderiferous scent 
it casts. As it is the most pleasant, so it is also the temperat'st clime of all 
Spain, and they commonly call it the second Italy, which made the Moors, 
whereof many thousands were disterr'd, and banish*d hence to Barbary, to think 
»hat Paradise was in that part of the heavens which hung over this citie. 

Howell's Letters. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 205 



tliis was called into full force by this new passion ; for, when a 
woman first begins to love, life is all romance to her. 

In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended to the moun- 
tain of the Sun, where is situated the Generaliffe, the palace of 
pleasure, in the days of Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy 
convent of capuchins. They had wandered about its garden, 
among groves of orange, citron, and cypress, where the waters, 
leaping in torrents, or gushing in fountains, or tossed aloft in spark- 
ling jets, fill the air with music and freshness. There is a melan- 
choly mingled with all the beauties of this garden, that gradually 
stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place is full of the sad 
story of past times. It was the favorite abode of the lovely 
queen of Grenada, where she was surrounded by the delights of 
a gay and voluptuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own 
bowers of roses, that her slanderers laid the base story of her 
dishonor, and struck a fatal blow to the line of the gallant Aben- 
cer.rages. 

The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. Many of 
the fountains are dry and broken ; the streams have wandered 
from their marble channels, and are choked by weeds and yellow 
leaves. The reed whistles to the wind where it had once sported 
among roses, and shaken perfume from the orange blossom. The 
convent bell flings its sullen sound, or the drowsy vesper hymn 
floats along these solitudes, which once resounded with the song, 
and the dance, and the lover's serenade. Well may the Moors 
lament over the loss of this earthly paradise ; well may they re- 
member it in their prayers, and beseech Heaven to restore it to 
the faithful ; well may their ambassadors smite their breasts when 
they behold these monuments of their race, and sit down and 
weep among the fading glories of Grenada ! 



206 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



It is impossible to wander about these scenes of departed love 
and gayetj, and not feel the tenderness of the heart awakened. 
It was then that Antonio first ventured to breathe his passion, and 
to express by words what his eyes had long since so eloquently 
revealed. He made his avowal with fervor, but with frankness. 
He had no gay prospects to hold out : he was a poor scholar, de- 
pendent on his " good spirits to feed and clothe him.'* But a 
woman in love is no interested calculator. Inez listened to him 
with downcast eyes, but in them was a humid gleam that showed 
her heart was with him. She had no prudery in her nature ; and 
she had not been sufficiently in society to acquire it. She loved 
him with all the absence of worldliness of a genuine woman ; 
and, amidst timid smiles and blushes, he drew from her a modest 
acknowledgment of her affection. 

They wandered about the garden with that sweet intoxication 
of the soul which none but happy lovers know. The world about 
them was all fairy land ; and, indeed, it spread forth one of its 
fairest scenes before their eyes, as if to fulfill their dream of 
earthly happiness. They looked out from between groves of 
orange upon the towers of Grenada below them ; the magnificent 
plain of the Yega beyond, streaked with evening sunshine, and 
the distant hills tinted with rosy and purple hues ; it seemed an 
emblem of the happy future that love and hope were decking out 
for them. 

As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalusians 
struck up a dance, in one of the vistas of the garden, to the 
guitars of two wandering musicians. The Spanish music is wild 
and plaintive, yet the people dance to it with spirit and enthu- 
siasm. The picturesque figures of the dances; the girls with 
their hair in silken nets that hung in knots and tassels down their 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 207 



backs, their mantillas floating round their graceful forms, their 
slender feet peeping from under their basquinas, thoir arms tossed 
up in the air to play the castanets, had a beautiful effect on this 
airy height, with the rich evening landscape spreading out below 
them. 

When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached 
Antonio and Inez ; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish 
ballad, accompanied by :the other on the lute. It alluded to the 
story of the garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of Grenada, and 
the misfortunes of the Abencerrages. It was one of those old 
ballads that abound in this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, 
about the ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez was at 
that moment open to every tender impression ; the tears rose into 
her eyes as she listened to the tale. The singer approached nearer 
to her ; she was striking in her appearance ; young, beautiful, with 
a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine black eyes. 
She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and sud- 
denly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated of 
impending danger and treachery. All this might have passed for 
a mere accidental caprice of the singer, had there not been some- 
thing in her look, manner, and gesticulation, that made it pointed 
and startlino*. 

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently personal 
application of the song, when she was interrupted by Antonio, 
who gently drew her from the place. Whilst she had been lost in 
attention to the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the 
shadows of the trees, whispering together. They were enveloped 
in the broad hats and great cloaks, so much worn by the Spanish, 
and while they were regarding himself and Inez attentively, 
seemed anxious to avoid observation. Not knowing what might 



208 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

be their character or intention, he hastened to quit a place where 
the gathering shadows of evening might expose them to intrusion 
and insult. On their way down the hill, as they passed through 
the wood of elms, mingled with poplars and oleanders, that skirts 
the road leading from the Alhambra, he again saw these men, ap- 
parently following at a distance ; and he afterwards caught «^ight 
of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He said 
notliing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not 
awaken unnecessary alarm ; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain 
or to avert any machinations that might be devising against the 
helpless inhabitants of the tower. 

He took his leave of them late at night, full of this perplexity. 
As he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the 
shadow^ of the wall, apparently w^atching his movements. He 
hastened after the figure, but it glided away, and disappeared 
among some ruins. Shortly after he heard a low whistle, which 
was answered from a little distance. He had no longer a doubt 
but that some mischief was on foot, and turned to hasten back to 
the tower, and put its inmates on their guard. He had scarcely 
turned, however, before he found himself suddenly seized from 
behind by some one of Herculean strength. His struggles were 
in vain ; he was surrounded by armed men. One threw a mantle 
over him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its folds ; and 
he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity. 

The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at 
the alchemist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he 
did not come ; nor had any thing been heard of him at his lodgings. 
His absence caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length 
alarm. Inez recollected the singular intimations of the ballad- 
singer upon the mountain, which seemed to warn her of impendirf^ 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 209 



danger, and her mind was full of vague forebodings. She sat lis- 
tening to every sound at the gate, or footstep on the stairs. She 
would take up her guitar and strike a few notes, but it would not 
do ; her heart was sickening with suspense and anxiety. She had 
never before felt what it w^as to be really lonely. She now was 
conscious of the force of that attachment w^hich had taken posses- 
sion of her breast; for never do we know how much we love, 
never do we know how necessary the object of our love is to our 
happiness, until w^e experience the w^eary void of separation. 

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple almost as 
sensibly as did his daughter. The animating buoyancy of the 
youth had inspired him w^ith new ardor, and had given to his 
labors the charm of full companionship. However, he had re- 
sources and consolations of which his daughter was destitute. 
His pursuits were of a nature to occupy every thought, and keep 
the spirits in a state of continual excitement. Certain indica- 
tions, too, had lately manifested themselves, of the most favorable 
nature. Forty days and forty nights had the process gone on 
successfully ; the old man's hopes were constantly rising, and he 
now considered the glorious moment once more at hand, when he 
should obtain not merely the major lunaria, but likewise the tinc- 
tura Solaris, the means of multiplying gold, and of prolonging ex- 
istence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up in his labo- 
ratory, watching his furnace ; for a moment's inadvertency might 
once more defeat all his expectations. 

He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, wrap- 
ped up in meditation ; the hour was late, and his neighbor, the 
owl, was hooting from the battlement of the tower, when he heard 
the door opened behind him. Supposing it to be his daughter 
coming to take her leave of him for the night, as w^as her frequent 



210 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



practice, lie called her by name, but a harsh voice met his ear in 
reply. He was grasped by the arms, and looking up, perceived 
three strange men in the chamber. He attempted to shake them 
off, but in vain. He called for help, but they scoffed at his cries. 

^' Peace, dotard !" cried one, " think'st thou the servants of the 
most holy inquisition are to be daunted by thy clamors ? Com- 
rades, away with him !" 

Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, they seized 
upon nis books and papers, took some note of the apartment, and 
the utensils, and then bore him off a prisoner. 

Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely evening ; 
seated by a casement which looked into the garden, she had pen- 
sively watched star after star sparkle out of the blue depths of the 
sky, and was indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her 
lover, until the rising tears began to flow. She was suddenly 
alarmed by the sound of voices that seemed to come from a dis- 
tant part of the mansion. There was not long after a noise of 
several persons descending the stairs. Surprised at these unusual 
sounds in their lonely habitation, she remained for a few moments 
in a state of trembling, yet indistinct apprehension, when the ser- 
vant rushed into the room, with terror in her countenance, and 
informed her that her father was carried off by armed men. 

Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down stairs to 
overtake them. She had scarcely passed the threshold, when she 
found herself in the grasp of strangers. — " Away ! — away !" cried 
she, wildly ; " do not stop me — ^let me follow my father." 

" We come to conduct you to him, sefiora," said one of the 
men, respectfully. 

" Where is he, then ?" 

" He is gone to Grenada," replied the man : " an unexpected 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 211 



circumstance requires his presence there immediately ; but he is 
among friends." 

"We have no friends in Grenada," said Inez, drawing back; 
but then the idea of Antonio rushed into her mind ; something 
relating to him might have called her father thither. " Is senor 
Antonio de Castros with him ?" demanded she with agitation. 

" I know not, senora," replied the man. " It is very possible. 
I only know that your father is among friends, and is anxious for 
you to follow him." 

" Let us go, then," cried she, eagqrly. The men led her a 
little distance to w^here a mule was waiting, and, assisting her to 
mount, they conducted her slowly towards the city. 

Grenada was on that evening a scene of fanciful revel. It 
was one of the festivals of the Maestranza, an association of the 
nobility to keep up some of the gallant customs of ancient chiv- 
alry. There had been a representation of a tournament in one 
of the squares ; the streets would still occasionally resound with 
the beat of a solitary drum, or the bray of a trumpet, from some 
straggling party of revelers. Sometimes they were met by cava- 
liers, richly dressed in ancient costumes, attended by their squires, 
and at one time they passed in sight of a palace brilliantly illumi- 
nated, whence came the mingled sounds of music and the dance. 
Shortly after they came to the square, where the mock tour- 
nament had been held. It was thronged by the populace, 
recreating themselves among booths and stalls where refresh- 
ments were sold, and the glare of torches showed the temporary 
galleries, and gay-colored awnings, and armorial trophies, and 
other paraphernalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endea- 
vored to keep out of observation, and to traverse a gloom}^ part 
of the square ; but they were detained at one place by the 



212 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



pressure of a crowd surrounding a party of wandering musicians, 
singing one of those ballads of which the Spanish populace are so 
passionately fond. The torches which were held by some of the 
crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, and the sight of so 
beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, looking so bewildered, 
and conducted by men who seemed to take no gratification in the 
surrounding gayety, occasioned expressions of curiosity. One 
of the ballad-singers approached, and striking her guitar with 
peculiar earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of sinister 
forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was the same bal- 
lad-singer that had addressed her in the garden of Generaliffe. 
It was the same air that she had then sung. It spoke of impend- 
ing dangers ; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. 
She was anxious to speak with the girl, and to ascertain whether 
she really had a knowledge of any definite evil that was threat- 
ening her; but as she attempted to address her, the mule on 
which she rode was suddenly seized and led forcibly through the 
throng by one of her conductors, while she saw another address- 
ing menacing words to the ballad-singer. The latter raised her 
hand with a warning gesture as Inez lost sight of her. 

While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by this singular 
occurrence, they stopped at the gate of a large mansion. One of 
h?r attendants knocked, the door was opened, and they entered a 
paved court. " Where are we ?" demanded Inez, with anxiety. 
*' At the house of a friend, senora," replied the man. " Ascend 
this staircase with me, and in a moment you will meet your 
father." 

They ascended a staircase that led to a suit of splendid 
apartments. Tliey passed through several until they came to an 
inner chamber. The door opened ; some one approached ; but 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 213 



whal was her terror on perceiving, not her father, but Don 
Ambrosio ! 

The men who had seized upon the alchemist had, at least, 
been more honest in their professions. They were, indeed, 
familiars of the inquisition. He was conducted in silence to the 
gloomy prison of that horrible tribunal. It was a mansion whose 
very aspect withered joy, and almost shut out hope. It was one 
j>f those hideous abodes which the bad passions of men conjure 
ap in this fair world, to rival the fancied dens of demons and the 
accursed. 

Day after day went heavily by, without any thing to mark 
he lapse of time but the decline and reappearance of the light 
hat feebly glimmered through the narrow window of the dun- 
geon in which the unfortunate alchemist was buried rather than 
gonfined. His mind was harassed with uncertainties and fears 
about his daughter, so helpless and inexperienced. He endeav- 
ored to gather tidings of her from the man who brought his 
daily portion of food. The fellow stared, as if astonished, at 
being asked a question in that mansion of silence and mystery, 
but departed without saying a word. Every succeeding attempt 
was equally fruitless. 

The poor alchemist was oppressed with many griefs ; and it 
fvas not ihe least that he had been again interrupted in his labors 
on the very point of success. Never was alchemist so near 
attaining the golden secret — a little longer, and all his hopes 
would have been realized. The thoughts of these disappoint- 
ments afflicted him more even than the fear of all that he might 
suffer from the merciless inquisition. His waking thoughts would 
follow him into his dreams. He would be transported in fancy 
to his laboratory, busied again among retorts and alembics, and 



214 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



surrounded by Lullj, by D'Abano, by Olybius, and the olhei 
masters of the sublime art. The moment of projection would 
arrive ; a seraphic form would rise out of the furnace, holding 
forth a vessel, containing the precious elixir; but, before he 
could grasp the prize, he would awake, and find himself in a 
dungeon. 

All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were employ<.d to 
ensnare the old man, and to draw from him evidence that might 
be brought against himself, and might corroborate certain secret 
information given against him. He had been accused of prac- 
ticing necromancy and judicial astrology, and a cloud of evidence 
had been secretly brought forward to substantiate the charge. 
It would be tedious to enumerate all the circumstances, appa- 
rently corroborative, which had been industriously cited by the 
secret accuser. The silence which prevailed about the tower, its 
desolateness, the very quiet of its inhabitants, had been adduced 
as proofs that something sinister was perpetrated within. The 
alchemist's conversations and soliloquies in the garden had been 
overheard and misrepresented. The lights and strange appear- 
ances at night, in the tower, were given with violent exaggera- 
tions. Shrieks and yells were said to have been heard thence at 
midr.ight, when, it was confidently asserted, the old man raised 
familiar spirits by his incantations, and even compelled the dead 
to rise from their graves, and answer to his questions. 

The alchemist, according to the custom of the inquisition, was 
kept in complete ignorance of his accuser ; of the witnesses pro- 
duced against him ; even of the crimes of which he was accused. 
He was examined generally, whether he knew why he was 
arrested, and was conscious of any guilt that might deserve the 
notice of the holy office ? He was examined as to his country, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 21, 



his life, his habits, his pursuits, his actions, and opinions. The 
old man was frank and simple in his replies ; he was conscious 
of no guilt, capable of no art, practiced in no dissimulation. 
After receiving a general admonition to bethink himself whether 
he had not committed any act deserving of punishment, and to 
prepare, by confession, to secure the well-known mercy of the 
tribunal, he was remanded to his cell. 

He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty familiars of the 
inquisition ; who, under pretence of sympathy and kindness, came 
to beguile the tediousness of his imprisonment with friendly con- 
versation. They casually introduced the subject of alchemy, on 
which they touched with great caution and pretended indifference. 
There was no need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast 
had no suspicion in his nature : the moment they touched upon 
his favorite theme, he forgot his misfortunes and imprisonment, 
and broke forth into rhapsodies about the divine science. 

The conversation was artfully turned to the discussion of 
elementary beings. The alchemist readily allowed his belief in 
them ; and that there had been instances of their attending upon 
philosophers, and administering to their wishes. He related 
many miracles said to have been performed by Apollonius Thya- 
neus, through the aid of spirits or demons ; insomuch that he was 
set up by the heathens in opposition to the Messiah ; and was 
even regarded with reverence by many Christians. The fami- 
liars eagerly demanded whether be believed Apollonius to be a 
true and worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety of the alche- 
mist protected him even in the midst of his simplicity ; for he 
condemned Apollonius as a sorcerer and an impostor. No art 
could draw from him an admission that he had ever employed or 
invoked spiritual agencies in the prosecution 'of his pursuits, 



216 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



thouo-h he believed himself to have been frequently impeded by 
their invisible interference. 

The inquisitors were sorely vexed at not being able to invei- 
o-le him into a confession of a criminal nature ; they attributed 
their failure to craft, to obstinacy, to every cause but the right 
one, namely, that the harmless visionary had nothing guilty to 
confess. They had abundant proof of a secret nature against 
him; but it was the practice of the inquisition to endeavor to 
procure confession from the prisoners. An auto da fe was at 
hand ; the worthy fathers were eager for his conviction, for they 
were always anxious to have a good number of culprits con- 
demned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. He was at 
length brought to a final examination. 

The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At one end 
was a huge crucifix, the standard of the inquisition. A long table 
extended through the centre of the room, at which sat the inqui- 
sitors and their secretary ; at the other end a stool was placed for 
the prisoner. 

He was brought in, according to custom, bareheaded and bare- 
legged. He was enfeebled by confinement and affliction ; by con- 
stantly brooding over the unknown fate of his child, and the disas- 
trous interruption of his experiments. He sat bowed down and 
listless ; his head sunk upon his breast ; his whole appearance 
that of one " past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over." 

The accusation alleged against him was now brought forward 
in a specific form ; he was called upon by name, Fehx de Vas- 
quez, formerly of Castile, to answer to the charges of necromancy 
and demonology. He was told that the charges were amply sub- 
stantiated ; and was asked whether he was ready, by full confession, 
to throw himself upon the well-known mercy of the holy inquisition. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 217 



The philosopher testified some little surprise at the nature of 
the accusation, but simply replied, " I am innocent." 

" What proof have you to give of your innocence ?" 

" It rather remains for you to prove your charges," said the 
old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner in the land, and 
know no one out of the doors of my dwelling. I can give no- 
thing in my vindication, but the word of a nobleman and a Casti- 
iian." 

The inquisitor shook his head, and went on .o repeat th\s 
various inquiries that had before been made as to his mode of life 
and pursuit. The poor alchemist was too feeble and too weary at 
heart to make any but brief replies. He requested that some 
man of science might examine his laboratory, and all his books 
and papers, by which it would be made abundantly evident that 
he was merely engaged in the study of alchemy. 

To this the inquisitor observed, that alchemy had become a 
mere covert for secret and deadly sins. That the practicers of it 
were apt to scruple at no means to satisfy their inordinate greedi- 
ness of gold. Some had been known to use spells and impious 
ceremonies ; to conjure the aid of evil spirits ; nay, even to sell 
their souis to the enemy of mankind, so that they might riot in 
boundless wealth while living. 

The poor alchemist had heard all patiently, or, at least, pas 
sively. He had disdained to vindicate his name otherwise than 
by his word ; he had smiled at the accusations of sorcery, when 
applied merely to himself; but when the sublime art, which had 
been the study and passion of his life, was assailed, he could no 
longer listen in silence. His head gradually rose from his bosom, 
a hectic color came in faint streaks to his cheek ; played about 
there, disappeared, returned, and at length kindled into a burn- 

10 



218 BRACKBRIDGE HALL. 

ing glow. The clammy dampness dried from his forehead ; his 
eyes, which had been nearly extinguished, lighted up again, and 
burned with their wonted and visionary fires. He entered into 
-I vindication of his f^xvorite art. His voice at first was feeble and 
broken ; but it gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled 
n a deep and sonorous volume. Pie gradually rose from his seat 
as he rose with his subject ; he threw back the scanty black man- 
tle which had liitherto wrapped his hmbs ; the very uncouthness 
of his form and looks gave an impressive effect to what he 
uttered ; it was as though a corpse had become suddenly ani- 
mated. 

He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon alchemy by 
the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed it to be the mother of all 
art and science, citing the opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, 
Eaymond Lully, and others, in support of his assertions. He 
maintained that it was pure and innocent, and honorable both in its 
purposes and means. What were its objects ? The perpetuation 
of life and youth, and the production of gold. " The elixir vitae," 
said he, "is no charmed potion, but merely a concentration of 
those elements of vitality which nature has scattered through her 
works. The philosophers* stone, or tincture, or powder, as it is 
variously called, is no necromantic talisman, but consists simply 
of those particles which gold contains within itself for its repro- 
duction ; for gold, like other things, has its seed within itself, 
tliough bound up with inconceivable firmness, from the vigor of 
nnate fixed salts and sulphurs. In seeking to discover the elixir 
of life, then,'' continued he, "we seek only to apply some of na- 
ture's own specifics against the disease and decay to which our 
bodies are subjected ; and what else does the physician, when he 
tasks his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning distillations 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 219 

to reviA'e our languishing powers, and avert tlie stroke of death 
for a season ? 

" In seeking to multiply the precious" metals, also, we seek but 
to germinate and multiply, by natural means, a particular species 
of nature's productions ; and vvdiat else does the husbandman, who 
consults times and seasons, and, by what might be deemed a 
natural magic, from the mere scattering of his hand, covers £^ 
whole plain with golden vegetation ? The mysteries of our art, 
it is true, are deeply and darkly hidden ; but it requires so much 
the more innocence and purity of thought to penetrate unto them. 
No, father ! the true alchemist must be pure in mind and body ; 
he must be temperate, patient, chaste, watchful, meek, humble, 
devout. ' My son,' says Hermes Trismegestes, the great mas- 
ter of our art, 'My son, I recommend you above all things to 
fear God.' And indeed it is only by devout castigation of the 
senses and purification of the soul, that the alchemist is enabled to 
enter into the sacred chambers of truth. ' Labor, pray, and read,' 
is the motto of our science. As De Nuy semen t well observes, 
' these high and singular favors are granted unto none, save only 
unto the sons of God, (that is to say, the virtuous and devout,) 
who, under his paternal benediction, have obtamed the opening 
of the same, by the helping hand of. the queen of arts, divine 
Philosophy.' Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this knowledge 
been considered, that we are told it has four times been expressly 
communicated by God to man, having made a part of that caba- 
listical wisdom which was revealed to Adam to console him for 
the loss of Paradise ; to Moses in the bush, to Solomon in a 
di'eam, and to Esdras by the angel. 

" So far from demons and malign spirits being the friends and 
abettors of the alchemist, they are the continual foes with wdiicb 



220 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



he has to contend. It is their constant endeavor to shut up the 
avenues to those truths which would enable him to rise above the 
abject state into which he has fallen, and return to that excellence 
which was his original birthright. For what w^ould be the effect 
of this length of days, and this abundant wealth, but to enable the 
possessor to go on from art to art, from science to science, with 
energies unim.paired by sickness, uninterrupted by death ? For 
this have sages and philosophers shut themselves up in cells 
and solitudes ; buried themselves in caves and dens of the earth; 
turning from the joys of life, and the pleasance of the world ; 
enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was Raymond 
LuUy stoned to death in Mauritania. For this did the immortal 
Pietro D'Abano suffer persecution at Padua, and when he es- 
caped from his oppressors by death, w^as despitefully burnt in 
effigy. For this have illustrious men of all nations intrepidly 
suffered martyrdom. For this, if unmolested, have they assidu- 
ously employed the latest hour of life, the expiring throb of 
existence ; hoping to the last that they might yet seize upon the 
prize for which they had struggled, and pluck themselves back 
even from the very jaws of the grave ! 

" For, w^hen once the alchemist shall have attained the object 
of his toils ; w'hen the sublime secret shall be revealed to his 
gaze, how glorious wdll be the change in his condition ! How^ will 
he emerge from his solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth 
from the darksome chamber of the night, and darting his beams 
throughout the earth ! Gifted with perpetual youth and bound- 
less riches, to w^hat heights of wisdom may he attain ! How may 
he carry on, uninterrupted, the thread of knowledge, which has 
hitherto been snapped at the death of each philosopher ! And, 
as the increase of wisdom is the increase of virtue, how may he 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 221 



become the benefactor of his fellow-men ; dispensing with liberal, 
but cautious and discriminating hand, that inexhaustible wealtli 
which is at his disposal ; banishing poverty, which is the cause of 
.so much sorrow and wickedness ; encouraging the arts ; promoting 
discoveries, and enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment ! 
His life will be the connecting band of generations. History will 
live in his recollection ; distant ages will speak with his tongue. 
The nations of the earth will look to him as their preceptor, and 
kings will sit at his feet and learn wisdom. Oh glorious ! Oh 
celestial alchemy !" — 

Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had suffered 
him to go on thus far, in hopes of gathering something from his 
unguarded enthusiasm. " Senor," said he, " this is all rambling, 
visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence 
you give us a rhapsody about alchemy. Have you nothing better 
than this to offer in your defence ?" 

The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did not deign a 
reply. The fire that had beamed in his eye gradually expired. 
His cheek resumed its wonted paleness ; but he did not relapse 
into inanity. He sat with a steady, serene, patient look, like one 
prepared not to contend but to suffer. 

His trial continued for a long time with cruel mockery of 
justice, for no witnesses were ever, in this court, confronted with 
the accused, and the latter had continually to defend himself in 
the dark. Some unknown and powerful enemy had alleged 
charges against the unfortunate alchemist, but who he could not 
imagine. Stranger and sojourner as he was in the land ; solitary 
and harmless in his pursuits, how could he have provoked such 
hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, however, was too strong 
against him ; he was convicted of the crime of magic, and con 



222 BRACEBRIDGE HALl.. 



(lemned to expiate his sins at the stake, at the approaching autc 
(la fl'. 

Whik^ the unhappy alchemist was undergoing his trial at 
the inquisition, his daughter was exposed to trials no less severe. 
Don Anihrosio, into whose hands she had fallen, was, as has 
been before intimated, one of the most daring and lawless profli- 
gates in all Grenada. He was a man of hot blood and ^lery 
passions, wlio stopped at nothing in the gratification of his de- 
sires ; yet with all tliis he possessed manners, address, and accom- 
plishments, that had made him eminently successful among the 
sex. From the palace to the cottage he had extended his amor- 
ous enterprises ; his serenades harassed the slumbers of half tlie 
husbands in Grenada ; no balcony was too high for his adventur- 
ous attempts ; nor any cottage too lowly for his perfidious seduc- 
tions. Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made 
him vain and capricious ; he had no sentiment to attach him to 
tlie victim of his arts; and manj^ a pale cheek and fading eye, 
hulguishing amidst the sparkling of jewels, and many a breaking 
heart, throbbing under the rustic bodice, bore testimony to his 
triumphs and his faithlessness. 

He was sated, how^ever, by easy conquests, and w^earied of a 
life of continual and prompt gratification. There had been a 
degree of difficulty and enterprise in the pursuit of Inez, that he 
had never before experienced. It had aroused him from the 
monotony of mere sensual life, and stimulated him with the charm 
of adv(Miture. He had become an epicure in pleasure ; and now 
thnt be bad this coy beauty in his power, he was determined to 
])r()tra('t his enjoyment, by the gradual conquest of her scruples, 
and downfall of her virtue. He was vain of his person and 
f,<i<lr. ... whicli he thought no woman could long withstand ; and if 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 223 



wa? a kiad of trial of skill, to endeavor to gain by art and fasci- 
nation, what he was secure of obtaining at any time by "violence. 

When Inez, therefore, v/as brouglit to hi^ presence by his 
: iissaries, he affected not to notice her terror and surprise; but 
received her with formal and stately courtesy, lie was too wary 
a fowler to flutter the bird when just entangled in the net. Tg 
her eager and wild inquiries about her father, he begged her not 
to be alarmed ; that he Avas safe, and had been there, but (vas 
engaged elsewhere in an aftair of moment, from which he would 
soon return ; in the meantime he had left word, that she should 
await his return in patience. After some stately expressions of 
general civility, Don Ambrosio made a ceremonious bow, and 
retired. 

The mind of Inez was full of trouble and perplexity. The 
stately formality of Don Ambrosio was so unexpected as to check 
the accusations and reproaches that were springing to her lips. 
Had lie had evil designs, would he have treated her with such 
frigid ceremony when he had her in his power ? But why, then, 
was she brought to his house ? Was not the mysterious disap- 
pearance of Antonio connected with this ? A thought suddenly 
darted into her mind. Antonio had again met with Don Ambro 
sio — they had fought — Antonio was wounded — perhaps dying !-- 
It was him to whom her father had gone. — It was at his request 
that Don Ambrosio had sent for them to soothe his dying mo- 
ments ! These, and a thousand such horrible suggestions, ha- 
rassed her mind ; but she tried in vain to get information from 
the domestics ; they knew nothing but that her father had been 
there, had gone, and would soon return. 

Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought and vague yet 
cruel apprehensions. She knew not what to do, or what to be- 



224 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



lieve ; whether she ought to fly, or to remain ; but if to fly, how 
was she to extricate herself? and where was she to seek her 
father ? As the day dawned without any intelligence of him, her 
alarm increased ; at length a message was brought from him, 
saying that circumstances prevented his return to her, but begging 
er to hasten to him without delay. 

With an eager and throbbing heart did she set forth with the 
men that were to conduct her. She little thought, however, that 
she was merely changing her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had 
feared lest she should be traced to his residence in Grenada ; or 
that he might be interrupted there before he could accom^jlish his 
plan of seduction. He had her now conveyed, therefore, to a 
mansion which he possessed in one of the mountain solitudes in 
the neighborhood of Grenada ; a lonely, but beautiful retreat. In 
vain, on her arrival, did she look around for her father, or Anto- 
nio ; none but strange faces met her eye ; menials profoundly 
respectful, but who knew nor saw any thing but what their mas- 
ter pleased. 

She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio made his ap- 
pearance, less stately in his manner, but still treating her with the 
utmost delicacy and deference. Inez was too much agitated and 
alarmed to be baffled by his courtesy, and became vehement in 
her demand to be conducted to her father. 

Don Ambrosio now put on an appearance of the greatest 
8mbarrassment and emotion. After some delay, and much pre- 
tended confusion, he at length confessed that the seizure of her 
father was all a stratagem ; a mere false alarm to procure him 
the present opportunity of having access to her, and endeavoring 
to mitigate that obduracy, and conquer that repugnance, which 
he declared had almost driven him to distraction. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 225 



He assured her that her father was again at home in safety, 
and occupied in his usual pursuits ; having been fully satisfied 
that his daughter was in honorable hands, and would soon be 
restored to him. In vain she threw herself at his feet, and 
implored to be set at liberty; he only replied by gentle entrea- 
ties, that she would pardon the seeming violence he had to use ; 
and that she would trust a little while to his lionoi. "You are 
here," said he, "absolute mistress of every thing: nothing shall 
be said or done to offend you ; I will not even intrude upon your 
ear the unhappy passion that is devouring my heart. Snouid 
you require it, I will even absent myself from your presence ; but 
to part with you entirely at present, with your mind full of doubts 
and resentments, would be worse than death to me. No, beauti- 
ful Inez, you must first know me a little better, and know my 
conduct, that my passion for you is as delicate and respectful as 
it is vehement." 

The assurance of her father's safety had relieved Inez from 
one cause of torturing anxiety, only to render her fears more vio- 
lent on her own account. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to 
treat her with artful deference, that insensibly lulled her apprehen- 
sions. It is true she found herself a captive, but no advantage 
appeared to be taken of her helplessness. She soothed herself 
with the idea that a little while would suffice to convince Don 
Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would be in- 
duced to restore her to her home. Her transports of terror and 
affliction, therefore, subsided, in a few days, into a passive, yet 
anxious melancholy, with which she awaited the hoped-for event 

In the meanwhile all those artifices were employed that are 
calculated to charm the senses, ensnare the feelings, and dissolve 
the heart into tenderness. Don Ambrosio was a master of the 

10* 



226 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



subtle arts of seduction. His very mansion breathed an ener- 
rating atmosphere of languor and delight. It was here, amidst 
twihght saloons and dreamj chambers, buried among groves of 
orange and myrtle, that he shut himself up at times from the 
prying world, and gave free scope to the gratification of his 
pleasures. 

The apartments were furnished in the most sumptuous and 
voluptuous manner; the silken couches swelled to the touch, and 
sank in downy softness beneath the slightest pressure. The 
paintings and statues all told some classic tale of love, managed, 
however, with an insidious delicacy ; which, while it banished the 
o;rossness that midit diso'ust, was the more calculated to excite 
the imagination. There the blooming Adonis was seen, not 
breaking a\vay to pursue the boisterous chase, but crowned with 
flowers, and languishing in the embraces of celestial beauty. 
There Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, with the Sicilian sea 
spreading in halcyon serenity before them. There were depicted 
groups of fauns and dryads, fondly reclining in summer bowers, 
and listening to the liquid piping of the reed ; or the wanton 
satyrs surprising some wood-nymph during her noontide slumber. 
There, too, on the storied tapestry, might be seen the chaste 
Diana, stealing, in the mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping 
Endymion ; while Cupid and Psyche, entwined in immortal mar- 
ble, breathed on each other's lips the early kiss of love. 

The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from these balmy 
halls ; soft and tender music from unseen musicians floated around, 
seeming to mingle with the perfumes exhaled from a thousand 
flowers. At night, when the moon shed a fairy light over the 
scene, the tender serenade would rise from among the bowers of 
the crnrden, in which the fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 227 



be distinguished ; or the amoroas flute would be heard along the 
mountain, breathing in its pensive cadences the very soul of a 
lover's melancholy. 

Various entertainments were also devised to dispel her loneli- 
ness, and to charm away the idea of confinement. Groups of 
Andalusian dancers performed, in the splendid saloons, the vari- 
ous picturesque dances of their country ; or represented little 
amorous ballets, which turned upon some pleasing scene of pas- 
toral coquetry and courtship. Sometimes there were bands of 
singers, who, to the romantic guitar, warbled forth diides full of 
passion and tenderness. 

Thus all about her^ enticed to pleasure and voluptuousness ; 
but the heart of Inez turned with distaste from this idle mockery. 
The tears would rush into her eyes as her thoughts reverted from 
this scene of profligate splendor, to the humble but virtuous home 
whence she had been betrayed ; or if the witching power of music 
ever soothed her into a tender reverie, it was to dwell with fond- 
ness on the image of Antonio. But if Don Ambrosio, deceived 
Dy this transient calm, should attempt at such time to whisper his 
passion, she would start as from a dream, and recoil from him 
with involuntary shuddering. 

She had passed one long day of, more than ordinary sadness, 
and in the evening a band of these hired performers were exert- 
ing all the animating powers of song and dance to amuse her. 
But while the lofty saloon resounded with their warblings, and 
the light sound of feet upon its marble pavement kept time to the 
cadence of the song, poor Inez, with her face buried in the silken 
couch on which she reclined, was only rendered more wretched 
by the sound of gayety. 

At length her attention was caught by the voice of one of th« 



228 RKACEBRIDGE HALL. 



singers, that brought with it some indefinite recollections. She 
i-aised her head, and cast an anxious look at the performers, who, 
as usual, were at the lower end of the saloon. One of them ad- 
vanced a little before the others. It was a female, dressed in a 
fanciful pastoral garb, suited to the character she was sustaining ; 
but her countenance was not to be mistaken. It was the same 
ballad-singer that had twice crossed her p^^th, and given her mys- 
terious intimations of the lurking mischief that surrounded her. 
When the rest of the performances were concluaed, she seized a 
tambourine, and tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of 
her own voice. In the course of her dancing she approached to 
where Inez reclined.: and as she struck the tambourine, contrived, 
dextrously, to throw a folded paper on the couch. Inez seized 
it with avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. The singing and 
dancing were at an end ; the motley crew retired ; and Inez, left 
alone, hastened with anxiety to unfold the paper thus mysteriously 
conveyed. It was written in an agitated, and almost illegible, 
handwriting : " Be on your guard ! you are surrounded by 
treachery. Trust not to the forbearance of Don Ambrosio ; you 
are marked out for his prey. An humble victim to his perfidy 
gives you this warning ; she is encompassed by too many dangers 
to be more explicit. — Your father is in the dungeons of the 
inquisition !" 

The brain of Inez reeled as she read this dreadful scroll. 
She was less filled with alarm at her own danger, than horror at 
her father's situation. The moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she 
rushed and threw herself at his feet, imploring him to save her 
father. Don Ambrosio started with astonishment ; but immedi- 
ately regaining his self-possession, endeavored to soothe her by 
his blandishments, and by assurances that her father was in safety. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 229 



She was not to be pacified ; her fears were too much aroused to 
be trifled with. She declared her knowledge of her father's be- 
ing a prisoner of the inquisition, and reiterated her frantic sup- 
plicatioDS that he would save him. 

Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in perplexity, but wag 
tou adroit to be easily confounded. " That your father is a pris- 
oner," replied he, "I have long known. I have concealed it 
from you, to save you from fruitless anxiety. You now know the 
real reason of the restraint I have put upon your liberty : I Lave 
been protecting instead of detaining you. Every exertion has 
been made in your father's favor ; but I regret to say, the proofs 
of the offences of which he stands char^fed have been too strons 
to be controverted. Still," added he, " I have it in my power to 
save him ; I have influence, I have means at my beck ; it may 
involve me, it is true, in difficulties, perhaps in disgrace ; but 
what would I not do in the hopes of being rewarded by your 
favor ? Speak, beautiful Inez," said he, his eyes kindling with 
sudden eagerness ; " it is with you to say the word that seals your 
father's fate. One kind word — say but you will be mine, and 
you will behold me at your feet, your father at liberty and in af- 
fluence, and we shall all be happy I" 

Inez drew back from him with scorn and disbelief. " My 
father," exclaimed she, " is too innocent and blameless to be con- 
victed of crime ; this is some base, some cruel artifice !" Don 
Ambrosio repeated his asseveratious, and with them also his dis- 
honorable proposals ; but his eagerness overshot its mark ; her 
indignation and her ii.credulity were alike awakened by his base 
suggestions ; and he retired from her presence checked and awed 
by the sudden pride and dignity of her demeanor. 

The unfortunate Inez now became a prey to the most harrow 



330 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



inir anxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that the mask had fallen from 
his face, and that the nature of his machinations was revealed. 
He had gone too far to retrace his steps, and assume the affecta- 
tion of tenderness and respect ; indeed, he was mortified and 
incensed at her insensibility to his attractions, and now only sought 
to subdue her through her fears. He daily represented to her 
the dangers that threatened her father, and that it was in his 
power alone to avert them. Inez was still incredulou.^. She was 
too ignorant of the nature of the inquisition to know that even 
innc)cence was not always a protection from its cruelties ; and she 
confided too surely in the virtue of her father to believe that any 
accusation could prevail against him. 

At length, Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual blow to her con- 
fidence, brought her the proclamation of the approaching auto da 
fe, in whicli the prisoners were enumerated. She glanced her 
eye over it, and beheld her father's name, condemned to the stake 
for sorcery. 

For a moment she stood transHxed with horror. Don Am- 
brosio seized upon the transient calm. '^ Think, now, beautiful 
Inez," said he, with a tone of affected tenderness, " his life is still 
in your hands ; one word from you, one kind word, and I can yet 
save him." 

" Monster wretch !" cried she, coming to herself, and recoil- 
ing fi'om liim \>ith insuperable abhorrence : "'tis you that are the 
cause of this — 'tis you that are his murderer !" Then, wringing 
her hands, she broke forth into exclamations of the most frantic 
agony. 

The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her soul, and an- 
ticipated from it a triumph. He saw that she was in no mood, 
during lier present paroxysm, to listen to his words; but he 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 231 



trusted that the horrors of lonely rumination would break down 
her spirit, and subdue her to his will. In this, however, he was 
disappointed. Many were the vicissitudes of mind of the wretched 
Inez ; one time she would embrace his knees with piercing sup- 
plications ; at another she would shrink with nervous horror at 
his very approach ; but any intimation of his passion only ex 
cited the same emotion of loathing and detestation. 

At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-morrow," said Don 
Ambrosio, as he left her one evening, " To-morrow is the aato 
da fl To-morrow you will hear the sound of the bell that tolls 
your father to his death. You will almost see the smoke that 
rises from his funeral pile. I leave you to yourself. It is yet in 
my power to save him. Think whether you can stand to-mor- 
row's horrors without shrinking. Think whether you can en- 
dure the after-reflection, that you were the cause of his death, 
and that merely through a perversity in refusing proffered hap- 
piness." 

What a night was it to Inez ! Her heart, already harassed 
and almost broken by repeated and protracted anxieties ; her 
strength wasted and enfeebled. On every side horrors awaited 
her : her father's death, her own dishonor : there seemed no 
escape from misery or perdition. " Is there no relief from man 
— no pity in heaven ?" exclaimed she. " What — what have we 
doiTe that we should be thus wretched ?" 

As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind arose to 
agony ; a thousand times did she try the doors and windows of 
her apartment, in the desperate hope of escaping. Alas ! with 
all the splendor of her prison, it was too faithfully secured for her 
weak hands to work deliverance. Like a poor bird, that beats its 
wings against its gilded cage, until it sinks panting in despair, so 



232 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



she threw herself on the floor in hopeless anguish. Her blood 
grew hot in her veins, her tongue was parched, her temples throb- 
bed with violence, she gasped rather than breathed ; it seemed as 
if lier brain was on fire. " Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed she, 
clasping her hands and turning up her strained eyes, " look down 
with pity, and support me in this dreadful hour !" 

Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key turn softly in 
the door of her apartment. She dreaded lest it should be Don 
Ambrosio : and the very thought of him gave her a sickening 
pang. It was a female, clad in a rustic dress, with her face con- 
cealed by her mantilla. She stepped silently into the room, 
looked cautiously round, and then, uncovering her face, revealed 
the well-known features of the ballad-singer. Inez uttered an 
exclamation of surprise, almost of joy. The unknown started 
back, pressed her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and beck- 
oned her to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in her veil, and 
obeyed. They passed with quick but noiseless steps through an 
antechamber, across a spacious hall, and along a corridor ; all was 
silent ; the household was yet locked in sleep. They came to a 
door, to which the unknown applied a key. Inez' heart misgave 
her ; she knew not but some new treachery was menacing her ; 
she laid her cold hand on the stranger's arm : " Whither are you 
leading me ?" said she. " To liberty," replied the other, in a 
whisper. 

" Do you know the passages about this mansion ?" 
" But too well !" replied the girl, with a melancholy shake of 
the head. There was an expression of sad veracity in her coun- 
tenance that was not to be distrusted. The door opened on a 
small terrace which was overlooked by several windows of the 
mansion. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 233 



6i ^^Q must move across this quickly," said the girl, '• or we may 
be observed." 

They glided over it as if scarce touching the ground. A 
flight of steps led down into the garden ; a wicket at the bottom 
was readily unbolted : they passed with breathless velocity along 
one of the alleys, still in sight of the mansion, in which, however, 
no person appeared to be stirring. At length they came to a low 
private door in the wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was se- 
cured by rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their feeble efforts. 

" Holy Virgin !" exclaimed the stranger, " what is to be done? 
one moment more, and we may be discovered." 

She seized a stone that lay near by : a few blows, and the 
bolts flew back ; the door grated harshly as they opened it, and 
the next moment they found themselves in a narrow road. 

" Now," said the stranger, " for Grenada as quickly as pos- 
sible ! The nearer we approach it, the safer we shall be ; for the 
road will be more frequented.'" 

The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken gave 
supernatural strength to their limbs ; they flew rather than ran. 
The day had dawned ; the crimson streaks on the edge of the 
horizon gave tokens of the approaching sunrise : already the 
light clouds that floated in the western sky were tinged with gold 
and purple ; though the broad plain of the Vega, which now be- 
gan to open upon their view, was covered with the dark haze of 
the morning. As yet they only passed a few straggling peasants: 
on the road, who could have yielded them no assistance in case 
of their being overtaken. They continued to hurry forward, and 
had gained a considerable distance, when the strength of Inez, 
which had only been sustained by the fever of her mind, began 
to yield to fatigue ; she slackened her pace, and faltered. 



234 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



" Alas !" said she, " mj limbs fail me ! I can go no farther !" 
" Bear up, bear up," replied her companion, cheeringly ; " a little 
farther and we shall be safe : look ! yonder is Grenada, just 
showing itself in the valley below us. A little farther, and we 
shall come to the main road, and then w^e shall find plenty of 
passengers to protect us." 

Inez, ei^couraged, made fresh efforts to get forward, but lier 
weary limbs A\ere unequal to the eagerness cf her mind; her 
mouth and throat were parched by agony and terror : she gasped 
for breath, and leaned for support against a rock. '' It is all in 
vain !" exclaimed she ; " I feel as though I should faint." 

" Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get into the shelter of 
yon thicket, that will conceal us from* view ; I hear the sound ol 
water, which will refresh you." 

With much difliculty they reached the thicket, which over 
hung a small mountain stream, just where its sparkling waters 
leaped over the rock and fell into a natural basin. Here Inez 
sank upon the ground exhausted. Her companion brought water 
in the palms of her hands, and bathed her pallid temples. The 
cooling drops revived her ; she was enabled to get to the margin 
of the stream, and drink of its crystal current ; then, reclining 
her head on the bosom of her deliverer, she was first enabled to 
murmur foi-th her heartfelt gratitude. 

*• Alas !" said the other, ^' I deserve no thanks ; I deserve not 
the good opinion you express. In me you behold a victim of 
Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he seduced me fi'om the 
cottage of my parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue moun- 
tain in the distance lies my native village : but it is no longer a 
liome for me. He lured me thence when I was too young for 
reflection ; he educated me, taught me various accomphshment^, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 235 



made me sensible to love, to splendor, to refinement ; then, having 
grown weary of me, he neglected me, and cast me upon the w^orld. 
Happily the accomplishments he taught me have kept me from 
utter ^vant ; and the love with which he inspired me has kept me 
from farther degradation. Yes ! I confess my weakness ; all his 
perfidy and wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. I have 
been brought up to love him ; I have no other idol : I know him 
to be base, yet I cannot help adoring him. I am content to min- 
gle among the hireling throng that administer to his amusements, 
that I may still hover about him, and linger in those halls where 
I once reigned mistress. What merit, then, have I in assisting 
your escape ? I scarce know^ whether I am acting from sympa- 
thy, and a desire to rescue another victim from his power ; or 
jealousy, and an eagerness to remove too powerful a rival !" 

While she Avas yet speaking, the sun rose in all its splendor ; 
first lighting up the mountain summits, then stealing dovrn height 
by height, until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Grenada, 
which they could partially see from between the trees, below them. 
Just then the heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a distance, 
echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale 
at the sound. She knew it to be the great bell of the cathedral, 
rung at sunrise on the day of the auto da fe, to give note of 
funeral preparation. Every stroke beat upon her heart, and 
inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. She started up wildly. 
" Let us be gone !" cried she ; " there is not a moment for 
delay !" 

"Stop!" exclaimed the other, "yonder are horsemen cominir 
over the brow of that distant height ; if I mistake not, Don Am- 
ofosio is at their head. — Alas ! 'tis he ; w^e are lost. Hold I" con- 
tinued she, "give me your scarf and veil; wrap yourself in this 



S.':5 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



mantilla. I will fly up yon footpath that leads to the heights. I 
will let the veil flutter as I ascend ; perhaps they may mistake me 
for you, and they must dismount to follow me. Do yo i hasten 
forward : you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels on 
your fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet to assist you on 
your way." 

All this was said with hurried and breathless rapidity. The 
exchange of garments was made in an instant. The girl darted 
up the mountain path, her white veil fluttering among the dark 
shrubbery ; while Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new 
terror, flew to the road, and trusted to Providence to guide her 
tottering steps to Grenada. 

All Grenada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal 
day. The heavy bell of the cathedral continued to utter its clang- 
ing tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all 
persons to the tremendous spectacle about to be exhibited. The 
streets through which the procession was to pass were crowded 
with the populace. The windows, the roofs, every place that 
could admit a face or a foothold, was alive with spectators. In 
the great square a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre, was 
erected, where the sentences of the prisoners were to be read, and 
the sermon of faith to be preached ; and close by were the stakes 
prepared, where the condemned were to be burnt to death. Seats 
were arranged for the great, the gay, the beautiful ; for such is the 
horrible curiosity of human nature, that this cruel sacrifice was 
attended with. more eagerness than a theatre, or even a bull-feast. 

As the day advanced, the scaffolds and balconies were filled 
with expecting multitudes ; the sun shone brightly upon fair faceg 
and gallant dresses ; one would have thought it some scene of ele 
gant festivity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and death. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMAISCA. 237 



But what a different spectacle and ceremony was this from those 
which Grenada exhibited in the days of her Moorish splendoi? 
" Her galas, her tournaments, her sports of the ring, her fetes of 
St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tihs of canes ! 
Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe ! The costly 
liveries of the Abencerrages, their exquisite inventions, the skill 
and - valor of the Alabaces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, 
Mazas, and Gomeles !"* — All these were at an end. The days of 
chivalry were over. Instead of the prancing cavalcade, with 
neighing steed and IVely trumpet; with burnished lance, and 
helm, and buckler ; wi*:h rich confusion of plume, and scarf, and 
banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, and orange, and 
every gay color, were mingled with cloth of gold and fair em- 
broidery ; instead of this crept on the gloomy pageant of supersti- 
tion, in cowl and sackcloth ; with cross and coffin, and frightful 
symbols of human suffering. In place of the frank, hardy knight, 
open and brave, with his lady's favor in his casque, and amorous 
motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the smile of 
beauty, came the shaven, unmanly monk, with downcast eyes, and 
head and heart bleached in the cold cloister, secretly exulting in 
this bigot triumph. 

The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal procession 
was advancing. It passed slowly through the principal streets of 
he city, bearing in advance the awful banner of the holy office. 
The prisoners walked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded 
by familiars of the inquisition. They were clad in different gar- 
ments, according to the nature of their punishments ; those who 
were to suffer death wore the hideous Samarra, painted with flames 
and demons. The procession was swelled by choirs of boys, dif- 

** Rodd's Civil Wars of Grenada. 



238 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



ferent religious orders, and public dignitaries ; and, above all, by 
tlie fathers of the faith, moving " with slow pace, and profound 
gravity, truly triumphing as becomes the principal generals of that 
great victory."* 

As the sacred banner of the inquisition advanced, the count- 
less throng sunk on their knees before it ; they bowed their faces 
t.o thfc very earth as it passed, and then slowly ros^ again, like a 
oreat undulating billow. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the 
prisoners approached, and eager eyes were strained, and fingers 
pointed, to distinguish the different orders of penitents, >vhose 
habits denoted the degree of punishment they were to undergo. 
But as those drew near w^iose frightful garb marked them as des- 
tined to the flames, the noise of the rabble subsided ; they seemed 
almost to hold in their breaths; filled wath that strange and dis- 
mal interest with which we contemplate a human being on the 
verge of suffering and death. 

It is an awful thing- — a voiceless, noiseless multitude ! The 
hushed and gazing stillness of the surrounding thousands, heaped 
on walls, and gates, and roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clusters, 
heightened the effect of the pageant that moved drearily on. The 
low murmuring of the priests could now be heard in prayer and 
exhortation, with the faint responses of the prisoners, and now 
and then the voices of the choir at a distance, chanting the litanies 
of the saints. 

The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and disconsolate. 
Even those Avho had been pardoned, andSvore the Sanbenito,-or 
penitential garment, bore traces of the horrors they had uiukM\ 
iijonc. Some were feeble and totterino: from lon^r confinement, 
i^ome crippled and distorted by various tortures ; every counte 

* Gonsilvius, p 135. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 239 



aance was a dismal page, on which might be read the secrets of 
their prison-house. But in the looks of those condemned to death 
tliere was something fierce and eager. They seemed men har- 
rowed up by the past, and desperate as to the future. They were 
anticipating, with spirits fevered by despair, and fixed and clenched 
determination, the vehement struggle with agony and death they 
were shortly to undergo. Some cast now and then a wild and an- 
guished look about them upon the shining day ; the '* sun-bright 
palaces," the gay, the beautiful world, which they were soon to 
quit for ever ; or a glance of sudden indignation at the thronging 
thousands, happy in liberty and life, who seemed, in contemplating 
their frightful situation, to exult in their own comparative security. 

One among the condemned, however, was an exception to 
these remarks. It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, w th 
a serene, though dejected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy 
eye. It was the alchemist. The populace looked upon him with 
a degree of compassion, which they were not prone to feel towards 
criminals condemned by the inquisition ; but when they were told 
that he was convicted of the crime of magic, they drew back Avith 
awe and abhorrence. 

The procession had reached the grand square. The first part 
had already mounted the scaffolding, and the condemned were ap- 
proaching. The press of the populace became excessive, and was 
repelled, as it were, in billows by the guards. Just as the con- 
demned were entering the square, a shrieking was heard among 
the crowd. A female, pale, frantic, disheveled, was seen strug- 
gling through the multitude. " My fixther ! my father!" was all 
the cry she uttered, but it thrilled througli every heart. Tlie 
crowd instinctively drew back, and made way for her as she ad- 
vanced. 



240 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



The poor alchemist had made his peace with Heaven^ and, b) 
hard struggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice 
of his child called him once more back to worldly thought and agony 
He turned towards the well-known voice ; his knees smote *to- 
gether ; he endeavored to reach forth his pinioned arms, and felt 
himself clasped in the embraces of his child. The emotions of 
both were too agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs, and 
broken exclamations, and embraces more of anguish than tender- 
ness, were all that passed between them. The procession was 
interrupted for a moment. The astonished monks and familiars 
were filled with involuntary respect at tliis agony of natural affec- 
tion. Ejaculations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the 
filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish of so young 
and beautiful a being. 

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, was 
unheeded ; at length they endeavored to separate her from her 
father by force. The movement roused her from her temporary 
abandonment. With a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a 
sword from one of the familiars. Her late pale countenance was 
flushed with rage, and fire flashed from her once soft and lan- 
guishing eyes. The guards shrunk back with awe. There was 
something in this filial frenzy, this feminine tenderness wrought 
up to desperation, that touched even their hardened hearts. They 
endeavored to pacify her, but in vain. Her eye was eager and 
quick as the she-wolf's guarding her young. With one arm she 
pressed her father to her bosom, with the other she menaced every 
one that approached. 

The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. They had 
held back in awe, but not in fear. With all her desperation the 
weapon was soon wrested from her feeble hand, and she was 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 24i 



borne shrieking and struggling among the crowd. The rabble 
murmured compassion ; but such was the dread inspired by the 
• inquisition, that no one attempted to interfere. 

The procession again resumed its march. Inez was ineffectu- 
ally struggling to release herself from the hands of the familiars 
that detained her, when suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before 
her. " Wretched girl !" exclaimed he with fury, " why have 
you fled from your friends ? Deliver her," said he to the famil- 
iars, " to my domestics ; she is under my protection." 

His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! oh no !" cried 
she, with new terrors, and clinging to the familiars, " I have fled 
from no friends. He is not my protector ! He is the murderer 
of my father !" 

The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd pressed on with 
eager curiosity. "Stand off!" cried the fiery Ambrosio, dashing 
the throng from^round him. Then turning to the familiars, with 
sudden moderation, " My friends," said he, " deliver this poor 
girl to me. Her distress has turned her brain ; she has escaped 
Irom her friends and protectors this morning ; but a little quiet 
and kind treatment will restore her to tranquillity." 

" I am not mad ! I am not mad !" cried she, vehemently. 
" Oh, save me ! — save me from these men ! I have no protector 
on earth brt my father, and him they are murdering !" 

The familiars shook thefr heads ; her wildness corroborated 
the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent rank com- 
manded respect and belief. They relinquished their charge to 
him, and he was consigning the struggling Inez to his creatures — > 

" Let go your hold, villain !" cried a voice from among the 
crowd, and Antonio was seen eagerly tearing his way through the 
press of people. 

11 



242 BRACEBRIDGE HALjl. 



" Seize him I seize him !" cried Don Ambrosio to the famil* 
iars : " 'tis an accomplice of the sorcerer's." 

" Liar !" retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob to the right 
and left, and forced himself to the spot. 

The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant from the 
scabbard ; the student was armed, and equally alert. There was 
a fierce clash of weapons ; the crowd made way for them as they 
fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from the view of 
Inez. All was tumult and confusion for a moment ; when there 
was a kind of shout from the spectators, and the mob again open- 
ing, she beheld, as she thought, Antonio weltering in his blood. 

This new shock was too great for her already overstrained 
intellects. A giddiness seized upon her ; every thing seemed to 
whirl before her eyes ; she gasped some incoherent words, and 
sunk senseless upon the ground. 

Days, weeks, elapsed before Inez returned ^o consciousness. 
At length she opened her eyes, as if out of a troubled sleep. 
She was lying upon a magnificent bed, in a chamber richly fur- 
nished with pier-glasses and massive tables inlaid with silver, of 
exquisite workmanship. The walls were covered with tapestry ; 
the cornices richly gilded : through the door, which stood open, 
slie perceived a superb saloon, with statues and crystal lustres, 
and a magnificent suit of apartments beyond. The casements 
of the room were open to admit the soft breath of summer, which 
stole in, laden with perfumes from a neighboring garden ; whence, 
al^o, the refreshing sound of fountains and the sweet notes of 
birds came in mingled music to her ear. 

Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, about 
the cliamber; but she feared to address (hem. She doubted 
whether this were not all delusion, or whether she was not still io 



THE kSTUDENT of SALAMANCA. 243 



the palace of Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and all its cir- 
cumstances, had not been but a feverish dream. She closed her 
eyes again, endeavoring to recall the past, and to separate the 
real from the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, how- 
ever, rushed too forcibly, with all their horrors, to her mind to be 
doubted, and she turned shuddering from the recollection, to gaze 
once more on the quiet and serene magnificence around her. As 
she again opened her eyes, they rested on an object that at once 
dispelled every alarm. At the head of her bed sat a venerable 
form watching over her with a look of fond anxiety — ^it was her 
father I 

I wdll not attempt to describe the scene that ensued ; nor the 
moments of rapture which more than repaid all the sufferings her 
affectionate heart had undergone. As soon as their feelings had 
become more calm, the alchemist stepped out of the room to intro- 
duce a stranger, to whom he was indebted for his life and liberty. 
He returned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor scholar's 
garb, but in the rich dress of a nobleman. 

The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by these 
sudden reverses, and it was some time before slie was suffi- 
ciently composed to comprehend the explanation of this seeming 
romance. 

It appeared that the lover, w^ho had sought her affections in 
the lowly guise of a student, was only son and heir of a powerful 
grandee of Valencia. He had been placed at the university of 
Salamanca ; but a lively curiosity, and an eagerness for adven- 
ture, had induced him to abandon the university, without hia 
father's consent, and to visit various parts of Spain. His ram- 
bling inclination satisfied, he had remained incognito for a time at 
Grenada, until, by farther study and self-regulation, he could pre- 



244 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



pare himself to return home with credit, and atone for his trans- 
gressions against paternal authority. 

How hard he had studied does not remain on record. All 
that we know is his romantic adventure of the tower. It was at 
tirst a mere youthful caprice, excited by a glimpse of a beautiful 
face. In becoming a disciple of the alchemist, he probably 
thought of nothing more than pursuing a light love affair. Farther 
acquaintance, however, had completely fixed his affections ; and 
he had determined to conduct Inez and her father to Valencia, and 
to trust to her merits to secure his father's consent to their union. 

In the meantime he had been traced to his concealment. His 
father had received intelligence of his being entangled in the 
snares of a mysterious adventurer and his daughter, and likely 
to become the dupe of the fascinations of the latter. . Trusty em- 
issaries had been dispatched to seize upon him by main force, and 
convey him without delay to the paternal home. 

What eloquence he had used with his father to convince him of 
the innocence, the honor, and the high descent of the alchemist, and 
of the exalted worth of his daughter, does not appear. All that we 
know is, that the father, though a very passionate, was a very rea- 
sonable man, as appears by his consenting that his son should return 
to Grenada, and conduct Inez, as his affianced bride, to Valencia. 

Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full of joyous anti- 
cipations. He still forbore to throw off his disguise, fondly 
picturing to himself what would be the surprise of Inez, w^hen, 
having won her heart and hand as a poor wandering scholar, he 
should raise her and her father at once to opulence and splendor. 

On his arrival he had been shocked at finding the tower 
deserted of its inhabitants. In vain he sought for intelligence 
concerning them ; a mystery hung over their disappearance 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 245 

which he could not penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, on 
accidentally reading a list of the prisoners at the impending auto 
da fe, to tind the name of his venerable master among the con- 
demned. 

It was the very morning of the execution. The procession 
was already on its way to the grand square. Not a moment was 
to be lost. The grand inquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, 
though they had never met. His first impulse was to make him- 
self known ; to exert all his family influence, the weight of his 
name, and the power of his eloquence, in vindication of the alche- 
mist. But the grand inquisitor was already proceeding, in all 
his pomp, to the place where the fatal ceremony was to be per- 
formed. How was he to be approached ? Antonio threw himself 
into the crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing his way to 
the scene of horror, where he arrived just in time to rescue Inez, 
as has been mentioned. 

It was Don Ambrosio that fell in the contest. Being despe- 
rately wounded, and thinking his end approaching, he had con- 
fessed, to an attending father of the inquisition, that he was the 
sole cause of the alchemist's condemnation, and that the evidence 
on which it was grounded was altogether false. The testimon}' 
of Don Antonio came in corroboration of this avowal ; and his 
relationship to the grand inquisitor had, in all probability, its 
proper weight. Thus was the poor alchemist snatched, in a 
manner, from the very flames ; and so great had been the sym- 
pathy awakened in his case, that for once a populace rejoiced at 
being disappointed of an execution. 

The residue of the story may readily be imagined by every 
one versed in this valuable kind of history. Don Antonio es- 
poused the lovely Inez, and took her and her fVither with him tc 



246 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Valencia. As she had been a loving and dutiful daughter, so she 
proved a true and tender wife. It was not long before Don 
Antonio succeeded to his father's titles and estates, and he and 
his fair spouse were renowned for being the handsomest and hap- 
piest couple in all Valencia. 

As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the enjoyment 
of a bi'oken constitution and a blasted name, and hid his remorse 
and disgraces in a convent ; while the poor victim of his arts, who 
had assisted Inez in lier escape, unable to conquer the early 
passion that he had awakened in her bosom, though convinced of 
the baseness of the object, retired from the world, and became a 
humble sister in a nunnery. 

The worthy alchemist took up his abode with his children. 
A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was assigned to him as 
a laboratory, where he resumed his researches, with renovated 
ardor, after the grand secret. He was now and then assisted by 
his son-in-law ; but the latter slackened grievously in his zeal 
and diligence after marriage. Still he would listen with profound 
gravity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, and his quota- 
tions from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, and Pietro D'Abano, which 
daily grew longer and longer. In this way the good alchemist 
lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is called a good old age, 
that is to say, an age that is good for nothing, and, unfortunately 
for mankind, was hurried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as 
he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone. 



Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which we 
whiled away the morning. The captain was, every now and then. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMAHgA. 247 # 



interrupted bj questions and remarks, which I have not men 
tioned, lest I should break the continuity of the tale. He was a 
little disturbed, also, once or twice, by the general, who fell 
asleep, and breathed rather hard, to the great horror and annoy- 
ance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and tender love scene, also, 
which was particularly to her ladyship's taste, the unlucky gene- 
ral, having his head a little sunk upon his breast, kept making a 
sound at regular intervals, very much like the word pishylong 
drawn out. At length he made an odd, abrupt, guttural sound, 
that suddenly awoke him ; he hemmed, looked about with a. 
slight degree of consternation, and then began to play with her 
ladyship's work-bag, which, however, she rather pettishly with- 
drew. The steady sound of the captain's voice was still too 
potent a soporific for the poor general ; he kept gleaming up and 
sinking in the socket, until the cessation of the tale again roused 
him, when he started awake, put his foot down upon Lady Lilly- 
craft's cur, the sleeping Beauty, which yelped, seized him by the 
leg, and, in a moment, the whole library resounded with yelpings 
and exclamations. Never did a man more completely mar his 
fortunes while he was asleep. Silence being at length restored, 
the company expressed their thanks to the captain, and gave 
various opinions of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had 
been continually running upon the leaden manuscripts, mentioned 
in the beginning, as dug up at Grenada, and he put several eager 
questions to the captain on the subject. The general could not 
well make out the drift of the story, but thought it a little con- 
fused. " I am glad, however," said he, " that they burnt the old 
chap in the tower ; I have no doubt he was a notorious im- 
postor." 



-^ 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN 

His certain life, that never can deceive him, 

Is full of thousand sw^eets, and rich content : 
The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him 

With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. 
His life is neither tost in boisterous seas 

Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. 
Pleased and full blest he lives when he his God can please. 

Phineas Fletcher. 

I TAW.E great pleasure in accompanying the Squire in his peram- 
bulations about his estate, in which he is often attended by a kind 
of cabinet council. His prime minister, the steward, is a very 
worthy and honest old man, who assumes a right of way ; that is 
to say, a right to have his own way, from having lived time out 
of mind on the place. He loves the estate even better than he 
does the Squire ; and thwarts the latter sadly in many of his 
projects of improvement, being a little prone to disapprove of 
every plan that does not originate with himself. 

In the course of one of these perambulations, I have known 
the Squire to point out some important alteration which he was 
contemplating, in the disposition or cultivation of the grounds: 
this of course would be opposed by the steward, and a long argu- 
ment would ensue over a stile, or on a rising piece of ground, 
until the Squire, who has a high opinion of the other's ability 
and integrity, would be fain to give up the point. This con 

11* 



250 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



cession, I observed, would immediately mollify the old man, 
and, after walking over a field or two in silence, with his hands 
behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he would sud- 
denly turn to the Squire, and observe, that " he had been turning 
the matter over in his mind, and, upon the whole, he believed 
he would take his honor's advice."* 

Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's occasional 
attendants, to whom he continually refers in all matters of local 
history, as to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, been 
acquainted with many of the trees, from the very time that they 
were acorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather prag- 
matical in those points of knowledge on which he values himself; 
but the Squire rarely contradicts him, and is, in fact, one of the 
most indulgent potentates that was ever hen-pecked by his 
ministry. 

He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields to these 
old men more from the bent of his own humor than from any 
want of proper authority. He likes this honest independence of 
old age, and is well aware that these trusty followers love and 
honor him in their hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own 
dignity and the respect of those around him ; nothing disgusts 
him sooner than any appearance of fawning or sycophancy. 

I really have seen no display of royal state that could com- 

* The reader who has perused a little work published by the author several 
years subsequently to Bracebridge Hall, narrating a visit to Abbotsford, will 
detect the origin of the above anecdote in the conferences between Sir Walter 
Scott and his right-hand man, Tommy Purdie. Indeed, the author is indebted 
for several of his traits of the Squire to observations made on Sir Walter Scott 
during that visit ; though he had to be cautious and sparing in drawing from 
that source. 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 251 



pare with one of the Squire's progresses about his paternal fields 
and through his hereditary woodlands, with several of these faith- 
ful adherents about him, and followed by a body-guard of dogs. 
He encourages a frankness and manliness of deportment among 
his dependents, and is the personal friend of his tenants ; inquiring 
into their concerns, and assisting them in times of difficulty and 
hardship. This has rendered him one of the most popular, and 
of course one of the happiest of landlords. 

Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condition of life, than 
that of an English gentleman, of sound judgment and good leel 
ings, who passes the greater part of his time on an hereditary 
estate in the country. From the excellence of the roads and the 
rapidity and exactness of public conveyances, he is enabled to 
command all the comforts and conveniences, all the intelligence 
and novelties of the capital, while h3 is removed from its hurry 
and distraction. He has ample means of occupation and amuse- 
ment within his own domains ; he may diversify his time by rural 
occupations, by rural sports, by study, and by the delights of 
friendly society collected within his own hospitable halls. 

Or if his views and feelings are of a more extensive and 
liberal nature, ha has it greatly in his power to do good, and to 
have that good immediately reflected back upon himself. He can 
render essential services to his country, by assisting in the disin- 
terested administration of the laws ; by watching over the opin- 
ions and principles of the lower orders around him ; by diffusing 
among them those lights important to their welfare ; by mingling 
frankly among them, gaining their confidence, becoming the imme- 
diate auditor of their complaints, informing himself of their wants, 
making himself a channel through which their grievances may be 
quietly communicated to the proper sources of mitigation and re- 



252 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



lief; or by becoming, if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible 
guardian of their liberties — the enlightened champion of their 
rights. 

All this can be done without any sacrifice of personal dignity, 
without any degrading arts of popularity, without any truckling 
to vulgar prejudices or concurrence in vulgar clamor; but by the 
steady influence of sincere and friendly counsel, of fair, upright, 
and generous deportment. Whatever may be said of English 
mobs and English demagogues, I have never met with a people 
more open to reason, more considerate in their tempers, more 
tractable by argument in the roughest times, than the English. 
They are remarkably quick at discerning and appreciating what- 
ever is manly and honorable. They are by nature and habit 
methodical and orderly ; and they feel the value of all that is re- 
gular and respectable. They may occasionally be deceived by 
sophistry, and excited into turbulence by public distresses and the 
misrepresentations of designing men ; but open their eyes, and 
they will eventually rally round the landmarks of steady truth 
and deliberate good sense. They are fond of established customs 
and long established names ; and that love of order and quiet 
which characterizes the nation, gives a vast influence to the de- 
scendants of the old families, whose forefathers have been lords 
of the soil from time immemorial. 

It is when the rich and well-educated and highly-privileged 
classes neglect their duties, when they neglect to study the inter- 
ests, and conciliate the affections, and insti-uct the opinions and 
champion the rights of the people, that the latter become discon- 
tented and turbulent, and fall into the hands of demagogues : the 
demagogue always steps in where the patriot is wanting. There 
is a common high-handed cant among the high feeding, and, as 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 25S 



they fancy themselves, high-minded men, about putting down the 
mob; but all true physicians know that it is better to sweeten 
the blood than attack the tumor ; to apply the emollient rather than 
the cautery. It is absurd in a country like England, where there 
is so much freedom, and such a jealousy of right, for any man to 
assume an aristocratical tone, and talk superciliously of the com- 
mon people. There is no rank that makes him independent of 
the opinions and affections of his fellow-men, there is no rank nor 
distinction that severs him from his fellow-subjects ; and if, by any 
gradual neglect or assumption on the one side, and discontent and 
jealousy on the other, the orders of society should really separate, 
let those who stand on the eminence beware that the chasm is not 
mining at their feet. The orders of society in all well-constituted 
governments are mutually bound together, and important to each 
other; there can be no such thing in a free government as a 
vacuum ; and whenever one is likely to take place, by the drawing 
off of the rich and intelligent from the poor, the bad passions of 
society will rush in to fill up the space, and rend the whole asunder. 
Though born and brought up in a republic, and more and 
more confirmed in republican principles by every year's obser- 
vation and experience, I am not insensible to the excellence 
that may exist in other forms of government ; nor to the fact that 
they may be more suitable to the situation and circumstances of the 
countries in which they exist : I have endeavored rather to look 
at them as they ai'e, and to observe how they are calculated to 
effect the end which they propose. Considering, therefore, the 
mixed nature of the government of this country, and its repre- 
sentative form, I have looked with admiration at the manner in 
which the wealth and influence and intelligence were spread over 
its whole surface ; not as in some monarchies, drained from 



254 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



the country, and collected in towns and cities. I have considered 
the great rural establishments of the nobility, and the lesser 
establishments of the gentry, as so many reservoirs of wealth and 
intelligence distributed about the kingdom, apart from the towns, 
to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surrounding country. I have 
looked upon them, too, as the august retreat of patriots and states 
men, where, in the enjoyment of honorable independence and ele- 
gant leisure, they might train up their minds to appear in those 
legislative assemblies, whose debates and decisions form the study 
and precedents of other nations, and involve the interests of the 
world. 

I have been both surprised and disappointed, therefore, at 
finding, that on this subject I was often indulging in an Utopian 
dream, rather than a well-founded opinion. I have been con- 
cerned at finding that these fine estates were too often involved, 
and mortgaged, or placed in the hands of creditors, and the own- 
ers exiled from their paternal lands. There is an extravagance, 
I am told, that runs parallel with wealth ; a lavish expenditure 
among the great ; a senseless competition among the aspiring ; 
a heedless, joyous dissipation, among all the upper ranks, that 
often beggars even these splendid establishments ; breaks down 
the pride and principles of their possessors, and makes too many 
of them mere place-hunters, or shifting absentees. It is thus 
that so many are thrown into the hands of government ; and a 
court, which ought to be the most pure and honorable in Eu- 
rope, is so often degraded by noble, but importunate time-servers. 
It is thus, too, that so many become exiles from their native land, 
crowding the hotels of foreign countries, and expending upon 
thankless strangers the wealth so hardly drained from their labo- 
rious peasantry, I have looked upon these latter with a mixture 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 255 



of censure and concern. Knowing the almost bigoted fondness 
of an Englishman for his native home, I can conceive what must 
be their compunction and regi-et^ when, amidst the sun-burnt 
plains of France, they call to mind the green fields of England ; 
the hereditary groves which they have abandoned, and the hospi- 
table roof of their fathers, which they have left desoiate, or to be 
inhabited by strangers. But retrenchment is no plea for aban- 
donment of country. They have risen with the prosperity of the 
land ; let them abide its fluctuations, and conform to .ts fortunes. 
It is not for the rich to fly because the country is suffering : let 
them share, in their relative proportion, the common lot ; they 
owe it to the land that has elevated them to h5nor and affluence. 
When the poor have to diminish their scanty morsels of bread ; 
when they have to compound with the cravings of nature, and 
study with how little they can do, and not be starved ; it is not 
then for the rich to fly, and diminish still farther the resources of 
the poor, that they themselves m.ay live in splendor in a cheaper 
country. Let them rather retire to their estates, and there prac- 
tice retrenchment. Let them return to that noble simplicity, 
that practical good sense, that honest pride, which form the 
foundation of true English character, and from them they may 
again rear the edifice of fair and honorable prosperity. 

On the rural habits of the English nobility and gentry, on 
the manner in which they discharge their duties on their patrimo- 
nial possessions, depend greatly the virtue and welfare of the 
nation. So long as they pass the greater part of their time in the 
quiet and purity of the country ; surrounded by the monuments 
of their illustrious ancestors ; surrounded by every thing that 
can inspire generous pride, noble emulation, and amiable and 
magnanimous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and in them the 



256 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



natior may repose its interests and its honor. But the moment 
that they become the servile throngers of court avenues, and give 
themselves up to the political intrigues and heartless dissipations 
of the metropolis, .that moment they lose the real nobility of their 
natures, and become the mere leeches of the country. 

That the great majority of nobility and gentry in England are 
endowed with high notions of honor and independence, I tho- 
roughly believe. They have evidenced it lately on very important 
questions, and have given an example of adherence to principle, 
in preference to party and power, that must have astonished 
many of the venal and obsequious courts of Europe. Such are 
the glorious effects (ff freedom, when infused into a constitution. 
But it seems to me that they are apt to forget the positive nature 
of their duties, and to consider their eminent privileges only as so 
many means of self-indulgence. They should recollect, that in a 
constitution like that of England, the titled orders are intended to 
be as useful as they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone 
that can render them both. Their duties are divided between 
the sovereign and the subjects ; surrounding and giving lus- 
tre and dignity to the throne, and at the same time tempering 
and mitigating its rays, until they are transmitted in mild and 
genial radiance to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, 
they owe the exercise of their talents, and the expenditure of 
their wealth, to their native country. They may be compared to 
the clouds ; which, being drawn up by the sun, and elevated in 
the heavens, reflect and magnify his splendor ; while they repay 
the earth, whence they derive their sustenance, by returning 
their treasures to its bosom in fertilizinoj showers. 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 

*' '111 live a private, pensive, single life." 

The Collier of Croydon. 

I WAS sitting in my room, a morning or two since, reading, when 
some one tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He 
had an unusually fresh appearance ; he wore a bright green 
riding-coat, with a bunch of violets in the button-hole, and had 
the air of an old bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. He had 
not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity ; Jbut loitered about 
the room with somewhat of absence of manner, humming the old 
song, — " Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes her time and me ;" 
and then, leaning against the window, and looking upon the land- 
scape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been accus- 
tomed to see Master Simon in a pensive m.ood, I thought there 
might be some vexation preying on his mind, and endeavored 
to introduce a cheerful strain of conversation ; but he was not in 
the vein to follow it up, and proposed a walk. 

It was a beautiful morning of that soft vernal temperature, 
which seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and set all 
nature in a ferment. The very jfishes felt its influence ; the cau- 
tious trout ventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate ; the 
roach and the dace rose up to the surface of the brook to bask in 
the sunshine, and the amorous frog piped from among the rushes. 
If ever an oyster can really fall in love, as has been said or sung, 
it must be on such a morning. 

The weather certainly had its effect upon Master Simon, for 



258 BRACEBRIDGt; HALL. 



he seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of 
stepping briskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint 
ditties, or telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and 
talked about the approaching nuptials, w^hence he made several 
digressions upon the character of womankind; touched a little 
upon the tender passion, and made sundry very excellent, though 
rather trite, observations upon disappointments in love. It was 
evident he had something on his mind which he wished to impart, 
but felt awkward in approaching it. I was curious to see what 
this strain would lead to, but determined not to assist him. In- 
deed, I mischievously pretended to turn the conversation, and 
talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting ; but he was 
very brief in his replies, and invariably got back, by hook or by 
crook, into the sentimental vein. 

At length we came to a clump of trees overhanging a whis- 
pering brook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were 
grievously scored with letters and devices, grown out of all shape 
and size by the growth of the bark ; and it appeared that this 
grove had served as a kind of register of the family loves from 
time immemorial. Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up 
a tuft of flowers, threw them one by one into the water, and at 
length, turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if I had 
ever been in love. I confess the question startled me a little, as 
I am not over fond of making confessions of my amorous follies, 
and above all should never dream of choosing my friend Master 
Simon for a confidant. He did not wait, however, for a reply ; 
the inquiry was merely a prelude to a confession on his own part, 
and after several circumlocutions and whimsical preambles, he 
fairly disburthened himself of a very tolerable story of his having 
been crossed in love. 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 259 



The reader will, very probably, suppose tbat it related to the 
gay widow who jilted him not long since at Doncaster races ; — no 
such thing. It was about a sentimental passion that he once had 
for a most beautiful young lady, who wrote poetry, and played on 
the harp. He used to serenade her ; and, indeed, he described 
several tender and gallant scenes, in which he was evidently pic- 
turing himself in his mind's eye as some elegant hero of romance, 
though, unfortunately for the tale, I only saw him as he stood 
before me, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face like an apple 
that had dried with the bloom on it. 

What were the particulars of this tender tale I have already 
forgotten ; indeed I listened to it with a heart like a very pebble- 
stone, having hard work to repress a smile while Master Simon 
was putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now and then a 
sigh, and endeavoring to look sentimental and melancholy. 

All that I recollect is, that the lady, according to his account, 
was certainly a little touched ; for she used to accept all the music 
that he copied for her harp, and all the patterns that he drew for 
her dresses ; and he began to flatter himself, after a long course 
of delicate attentions, that he was gradually fanning up a gentle 
flame in her heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of a rich, 
boisterous, fox-hunting baronet, without either music or sentiment, 
who carried her by storm, after a fortnight's courtship. 

Master Simon could not help concluding by some observation 
about " modest merit," and the power of gold over the sex. As 
a remembrance of his passion, he pointed out a heart carved on 
the bark of one of the trees ; but which, in the process of time, 
had grown out into a large excrescence : and he showed me a lock 
of her hair, which he wore in a true lover's knot, in a large 
gold brooch. 



260 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



I have seldom met with an old bachelor who had not, at some 
time or other, his nonsensical moment, when he would become 
tender and sentimental, talk about the concerns of the heart, and 
have some confession of a delicate nature to make. Almost every 
man has some little trait of romance in his life, to which he looks 
back with fondness, and about which he is apt to grow garrulous 
occasionally. He recollects himself as he was at the time, young 
and gamesome ; and forgets that his hearers have no other idea 
cf the hero of the tale, but such as he may appear at the time of 
telling it ; peradventure, a withered, whimsical, spindle-shanked 
old gentleman. With married men, it is true, this is not so fre- 
quently the case ; their amorous romance is apt to decline after 
marriage ; why, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; but with a 
bachelor, though it may slumber, it never dies. It is always 
liable to break out again in transient flashes, and never so much 
as on a spring morning in the country ; or on a winter evening 
when seated in his solitary chamber, stirring up the fire and talk- 
ing of matrimony. 

The moment Master Simon had gone through his confession, 
and, to use the common phrase, " had made a clean breast of it," 
he became quite himself again. He had settled the point which 
had been worrying his mind, and doubtless considered himself 
established as a man of sentiment in my opinion. Before we had 
finished our morning's stroll, he was singing as blithe as a grass- 
hopper, whistling to his dogs, and telling droll stories ; and I re- 
collect that he was particularly facetious that day at dinner, on the 
subject of matrimony, and uttered several excellent jokes, not to 
be found in Joe Miller, that made the bride elect blush and look 
down ; but set all the old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and 
absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes. 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 



" Merrie England!" 

Ancient PHRASis 



There is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his hobby without 
molestation. I find the Squire has not so undisturbed an indulg- 
ence in his humors as I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly- 
thwarted of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning perse- 
cution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, at 
least of purse, who has recently moved into the neighborhood. 
He is a worthy and substantial manufacturer, who, having accu- 
mulated a large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spinning- 
jennies, has retired from business, and set up for a country gen- 
tleman. He has taken an old country seat, and refitted it ; and 
painted and plastered it, until it looks not unlike his own manu- 
factory. He has been particularly careful in mending the walls 
and hedges, and putting up notices of spring-guns and man-traps 
in every part of his premises. Indeed, he shows great jealousy 
about his territorial rights, having stopped up a footpath which led 
across his fields ; and given warning, in staring letters, that who- 
ever was found trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted 
with the utmost rigor of the law. He has brought into the coun- 
try with him all the practical maxims of town, and the bustling 
habits of business ; and is one of those sensible, useful, prosing, 



2^2 BRACEBRIDGE 



jp. 



troublesome, intolerable old gentlemen who go about wearying 
and worrying society witli excellent plans for public utility. 

He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms with the 
Squire, and calls on him every now and then, with some project 
for the good of the neighborhood, which happens to run diametri- 
cally opposite to some one or other of the Squire's peculiar no- 
tions ; but which is " too sensible a measure " to be openly 
opposed. He has annoyed him excessively by enforcing the 
vagrant laws ; persecuting the gipsies, and endeavoring to sup- 
press country wakes and holiday games ; which he considers 
great nuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of idle- 
ness. 

There is evidently in all this a little of the ostentation of 
newly-acquired consequence ; the tradesman is gradually swelling 
into the aristocrat ; and he begins to grow excessively intolerant 
of every thing that is not genteel. He has a great deal to say . 
about " the common people ;" talks much of his park, his pre- 
serves, and the necessity of enforcing the game laws more strictly 
and make? frequent use of the phrase, " the gentry of the neigh- 
borhood.' 

He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of business, that 
he and the Squire, to use his own words, " might lay their heads 
together," to hit upon some mode of putting a stop to the frolick- 
ing at the village on the approaching May-day. It drew, he said, 
idle people together from all parts of the neighboi'hood, who spent 
the day fiddling, dancing, and carousing, instead of stayhig at home 
to work for their fxmilies. 

Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these May- 
day revels, it may be supposed that the suggestions of the saga- 
cious Mr. Faddy were not received with the best grace in the 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 263 

world. It is true, the old gentleman is too courteous to show any 
temper to a guest in his own house, but no sooner was he gone 
than the indignation of the Squire found vent, at having his poet- 
ical cobwebs invaded by this buzzing, bhie-bottle fiy of traffic. In 
his warmth he inveighed against the Avhole race of manufacturers, 
who, I found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. " Sir," said 
he, with emotion, " it makes my heart bleed to see all our fine 
streams dammed up and bestrode by cotton-mills ; our valleys 
smoking with steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the 
loom scaring away all our rural delights. What's to become of 
merry old England, when its manor-houses are all turned into 
manufactories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and stock- 
ing-weavers ? I have looked in vain for merry Sherwood, and all 
the greenwood haunts of Kobin Hood; the whole country is 
covered with manufacturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of 
Dudley Castle, and looked round, with an aching heart, on what 
were once its feudal domains of verdant and beautiful country. 
Sir, I beheld a mere campus phlegrae ; a region of fire ; reeking 
with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, vomiting forth 
flames and smoke. The pale and ghastly people, toiling among 
vile exhalations, looked more like demons than human beincrs ; 
the clanking wheels and engines, seen through the murky atmos- 
phere, looked like instruments of torture in this pandemonium. 
What is to become of the country with these evils rankling in its 
very core ? Sir, these manufacturers will be the ruin of our rural 
manners ; they will destroy the national character ; they will not 
leave materials for a single line of poetry !" 

The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on «uch themes ; and I 
could hardly help smiling at this whimsical lamentation over na- 
tional industry and public improvement. I am told, however, that 



264 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



he really grieves at the growing of trade, as destroying the charna 
of life. He considers every new short-hand mode of doing 
things, as an inroad of snug sordid method ; and thinks that this 
will soon become a mere matter-of-fact w^orld, where life will be 
reduced to a mathematical calculation of conveniences, and every 
thing will be done by steam. 

He maintains, also, that the nation has declined in its free and 
joyous spirit in proportion as it has turned its attention to com- 
merce and manufactures ; and that in old times^ when England 
was an idler, it was also a merrier little island. In support of 
this opinion he adduces the frequency and splendor of ancient 
festivals and merry-makings, and the hearty spirit with which 
they were kept up by all classes of people. His memory is 
stored with the accounts given by Stow, in his Survey of London, 
of the holiday revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- 
meries, and the masquings and bonfires about the streets. Lon- 
don, he says, in those days, resembled the continental cities in its 
picturesque manners and amusements. The court used to dance 
after dinner on public occasions. After the coronation dinner 
of Richard II, for example, the king, the prelates, the nobles, 
the knights, and the rest of the company danced in Westminster 
Hall to the music of the minstrels. The example of the court 
was followed by the middling classes, and so down to the lowest, 
and the whole nation was a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes a 
lively city picture of the times, given by Stow, which resembles 
the lively scenes one may often see in the gay city of Paris ; for 
he tells us that on holidays, after evening prayers, the maidens in 
London used to assemble before the door, in sight of their mas- 
ters and dames, and while one played on a timbrel, the others 
danced for garlands, hanged athwart the street. 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 265 



" Where will we meet Avith such merry groups now-a-days ?" 
the Squire will exclaim, shaking his head mournfully ; — " and 
then as to the gayety that prevailed in dress throughout all ranks 
of society ; and made the very streets so fine and picturesque. 
' I have myself/ says Gervaise Markham, ' met an ordinary tap- 
ster in his silk stockings, garters deep fringed with gold lace, the 
rest of his apparel suitable, with cloak lined with velvet !' Nashe, 
too, who wrote in 1593, exclaims at the finery of the nation, 
^ England, the player's stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of all na- 
tion's superfluities, the continual masquer in outlandish h^ili- 
ments.' " 

Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the Squire by 
way of contrasting what he supposes to have been the former 
vivacity of the nation with its present monotonous character. 
" John Bull," he will say, " was then a gay cavalier, with a sword 
by his side and a feather in his cap ; but he is now a plodding 
citizen, in snuff- colored coat and gaiters," 

By the by, there really appears to have been some change in 
the national character since the days of which the Squire is so 
fond of talking ; those days when this little island acquired its 
favorite old title of " merry England." This may be attributed 
in part to the growing hardships of the times, and the necessity 
of turning the whole attention to the means of subsistence ; but 
England's gayest customs prevailed at times when her common 
people enjoyed comparatively few of the comforts and conveni- 
ences which they do at present. It may -be still more attributed 
to the universal spirit of gain, and the calculating habits which 
commerce has introduced ; but I am inclined to attribute it chiefly 
to the gradual increase of the liberty of the subject, and the grow- 
ing freedom and activity of opinion. 

12 



aee BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. They have 
high and important matters to occupy then* minds. They feel it 
their right, their interest, and their duty to mingle in public concerns, 
and to watch over the general welfare. The continual exercise 
of the mind on political topics gives intenser habits of thinking, 
and a more serious and earnest demeanor. A nation becomes 
less gay, but more intellectually active and vigorous. It evinces 
less play of the fancy, but more power of the imagination ; less 
taste and elegance, but more grandeur of mind ; less animated 
vivacity, but deeper enthusiasm. 

It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly thought 
by a despotic government ; when every grave and lofty theme is 
rendered perilous to discussion and almost to reflection ; it is then 
that they turn to the safer occupations of taste and amusement ; 
trifles rise to importance, and occupy the craving activity of intel- 
lect. No being is more void of care and reflection than the slave ; 
none dances more gayly in his intervals of labor ; but make him 
free, give him rights and interests to guard, and he becomes 
thoughtful and laborious. 

The French are a gayer people than the English. Why ? 
Partly from temperament, perhaps ; but greatly because they 
have been accustomed to governments which surrounded the free 
exercise of thought with danger, and where he only was safe who 
shut his eyes and ears to public events, and enjoyed the passing 
pleasure of the day. AVithin late years they have had more op- 
portunity of exercising their minds ; and within late years the 
national character has essentially changed. Never did the French 
enjoy such a degree of freedom as they do at this moment : and 
at this moment the French are comparatively a grave people. 



GIPSIES. 



What's that to absolute freedom ; such as the very bejjgars have ; to feast and re\el her« 
to day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day where they please ; and so on still, the whole country 
or kingdom over 1 There's liberty ! the birds of the air can take no more. 

Jovial Crew. 



Since the meeting with the gipsies, which I have related in a 
former paper, I have observed several of them haunting the pur- 
lieus of the Hall, notwithstanding a positive interdiction of the 
Squire. They are part of a gang which has long kept about this 
neighborhood to the great annoyance of the farmers, whose poul- 
try-yards often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. They are, 
however, in some measure, patronized by the Squire, who con- 
siders the race as belonging to the good old times ; which, to con- 
fess the private truth, seem to have abounded with good-for-nothing 
characters. 

This roving crew is called " Star-light Tom's Gang," from 
the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard 
repeatedly of the misdeeds of this " minion of the moon ;" for 
every midnight; depredation in park, %y fold, or farm-yard, is laid 
to his charge. Star-light Tom, in fact, answers to his name ; 
he seems to walk in darkness, and, like a fox, to be traced in the 
morning by the mischief he has done. He reminds me of that 
fearful personage in the n irsery rhyme : 



2H& BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Who goes round the house at night ? 

None but bloody Tom ! 
Who steals all the sheep at night 1 

None but one by one ! 

in short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the neighborhood; 
but so cunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old 
Christy and the game-keeper have watched many a night in 
hopes of entrapping him ; and Christy often patrols the park 
with his dogs, for the purpose, but all in vain. It is said that 
the Squire winks hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent feel- 
ing towards the vagabond, because of his being very expert at all 
kinds of games, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the best 
morris-dcincer in the country. 

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested about 
the skirts of his estate, on condition they do not come about the 
house. The approaching wedding, however, has made a kind of 
Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a suspension of all sober 
rule. It has produced a great sensation throughout the female 
part of the household; not a housemaid but dreams of wedding 
favors, and has a husband running in her head. Such a time is 
a harvest for the gipsies : there is a public footpath leading across 
one part of the park, by which they have free ingress, and they 
are continually hovering about the grounds, telling the servant- 
girls' fortunes, or getting smuggled in to the young ladies. 

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by furnish- 
ing them with hints in private, and bewildering all the weak 
brains in the house with their wonderful revelations. The gene- 
ral certainly was very much astonished by the communications 
made to him the other evening by the gipsy girl : he kept a wary 
fciilcnce towards us on the subject, and affected to treat it lightW . 



GIPSIES. 269 



but I have noticed that he has since .-edoubled his attentions to 
Lady Lilly craft and her dogs. 

I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's pretty 
and love-sick niece, holding a long conference with one of these 
old sibyls behind a large tree in the avenue, and often looking 
round to see that she was not observed. I make no doubt she 
vvas endeavoring to get some favorable augury about the result 
of her love-quarrel with young Ready-Money, as cracles have 
always been more consulted on love-affairs than upon any thing 
else. I fear, however, that in this instance the response was not 
so favorable as us.ual, for I perceived poor Phoebe returning pen- 
sively towards the house ; her head hanging down, her hat in her 
hand, and the ribbon trailing along the ground. 

At another time, as ]. turned a~ corner of a terrace, at the 
bottom of the garden, just by a clump of trees, and a large stone 
urn^ I came upon a bev}^ of the young girls of the family, attended 
by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the 
meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their apparent agita- 
tion, until I saw the red cloak of a gipsy vanishing among the 
shrubbery. A few moments after I caught a sight of Master 
Simon and the Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the 
garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful waggery ; hav- 
ing evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, and instructed her 
what to say. 

After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tam- 
perings with the future, even where we are convinced of the fal- 
lacy of the prediction. It is singular how willingly the mind v/iil 
half deceive itself; and with a degree of awe we will listen even 
to these babblers about futurity. For my part, T cannot feel an- 
gry with these pooi- vagabonds, that seek to deceive us into bright 



270 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



hopes and expectations. I have always been something of a 
castle-builder, and haye found my liveliest pleasures to arise from 
the illusions which fancy has cast over commonplace realities. 
As I get on in life, I find it more difficult to deceive myself in 
this delightful manner ; and I should be thankful to any prophet, 
however false, who would conjure the clouds which hang over 
futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into fairy-land. 

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good will 
towards gipsies, has suffered considerable annoyance on their 
account. Not that they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, 
for they do not depredate very flagrantly on his estate ; but be- 
cause their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud murmurs in the 
village. I can readily understand the old gentleman's humor on 
this point ; I have a great toleration for all kinds of vagrant 
sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a pleasure in observ- 
ing the ways of gipsies. The English, who are accustomed 
to them from childhood, and often suffer from their petty depre- 
dations, consider them as mere nuisances ; but I have been very 
much struck with their peculiarities. I like to behold their clear 
olive complexions ; their romantic black eyes ; their raven locks ; 
their lithe slender figures ; and to hear them, in low silver tones, 
dealing forth magnificent promises of honors and estates ; of 
world's wealth, and ladies' love. 

Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and 
picturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain 
a primitive independence, in spite of law and gospel ; of county 
jails and country magistrates. It is curious to see this obstinate 
adherence to the wild unsettled habits of savasre life transmitted 
from generation to generation, and preserved in the midst of one 
of the most cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the 



GIPSIES. 271 



world. They are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people 
about them. They seem to be, like the Indians of America, 
either above or below the ordinary cares and anxieties of man- 
kind. Heedless of power, of honors, of wealth ; and indifferent 
to the fluctuations of times ; the rise or fall of grain, or stock, or 
empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world around 
them, and to live according to the philosophy of the old song : 

** Who would ambitioi> shiHi, 
And loves to lie i* the sun, 
^ Seeking the food he eats. 

And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather." 

In this way they wander from county to county; keeping 
about the purlieus of villages, or in plenteous neighborhoods, 
where there are fat farms and rich country-seats. Their encamp- 
ments are generally made in some beautiful spot ; either a green 
shady nook of a road ; or on the border of a common, under a 
sheltering hedge; or on the skirts of a fine spreading wood. 
They are always to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and 
rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, and 
i(^eness. They are the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving 
girls ; and sometimes have even the honor of perusing the white 
hands of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling about their fa- 
thers' grounds. They are the bane of good housewives and 
thrifty farmers, and odious in the eyes of country justices ; but, 
like all other vagabond beings, they have something to commend 



272 BRACRBRIDGE HALL. 

them to the fancy. They are among the last traces, in these 
matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former times ; 
and are whimsically associated in my mind with fairies and 
witches, Robin Good Fellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantas- 
tical personages of poetry. 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 

Happy the age, and harmless were the dayes, 

(For then true love and amity was found,) 
When every village did a May-pole raise, 

And VVhitson ales and May games did abound : 
And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, 
With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about, 
Then friendship to their banquets bid the guttts. 
And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. 

Pasquil's Palin. mn. 

The month of April has nearly passed away, and we are fa^st 
approaching that poetical day, which was considered, in old time':^, 
as the boundary that parted the frontiers of winter and summer. 
With all its caprices, however, I like the month of April. I like 
these laughing and crying days, when sun and shade seem to run 
in billows over the landscape. I like to see the sudden shower 
coursing over the meadow, and giving all nature a greener smile ; 
and the bright sunbeams chasing the flying cloud, and turning, all 
its drops into diamonds. 

I was enjoying a morning of the kind in company with the 
Squire in one of the finest parts of the park. We were skirting 
a beautiful grove, and he was giving me a kind of biographical 
acjcount of several of his favorite forest trees, when he heard the 
strokes of an axe from the midst of a thick copse. The Squire 
paused and listened, with manifest signs of uneasiness. He 

12* 



274 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



turned his steps in the direction of the sound. The strokes grev? 
louder and louder as we advanced ; there was evidently a vigorous 
arm wielding the axe. The Squire quickened his pace, but in 
vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash told that the mischief 
had been done, and some child of the forest laid low. When we 
came to the place, we found Master Simon and several others 
standing about a tall and beautifully straight young tree, which 
had just been felled. 

The Squire, though a ijian of most harmonious dispositions, 
was completely put out of tune by this circumstance. He felt 
like a monarch witnessing the murder of one of his liege subjects, 
and demanded, with some asperity, the meaning of the outrage. 
It turned out to be an affair of Master Simon's, who had selected 
the tree, from its height and straightness, for a May-pole, the old 
one which stood on the village green being unfit for farther ser- 
vice. If any thing could have soothed the ire of my worthy host, 
it would have been the reflection that his tree had fallen in so good 
a cause ; and I saw that there was a great struggle between his 
fondness for his groves, and his devotion to May-day. He could 
not contemplate the prostrate tree, however, without indulging in 
lamentation, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Marc 
Antony over the body of Caesar ; and he forbade that any tree 
should thenceforward be cut down on his estate without a warrant 
from himself; being determined, he said, to hold the sovereign 
power of life and death in his own hands. ^^ 

This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, and I in 
quired whether the old customs connected with it were really kept 
up in this part of the country. The Squire shook his head mourn- 
fully ; and I found I had touched on one of his tender points, for 
he grew quite melancholy in bewailing the total decline of old May- 



MAY -DAY CUSTOMS. 275 



day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the neighbo -ing village, 
yet it has been merely resuscitated by the worthy Squire, and is 
kept up in a forced state of existence at his expense. He meets 
with continual discouragements ; and finds great difiiculty in get- 
ting the country bumpkins to play their parts tolerably. He 
manages to have every year a " Queen of the May ;" but as to 
Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby Horse, and all 
the other motley crew that used to enliven the day with their 
mummery, he has not ventured to introduce them. 

Still I look forward with some interest to the promised shadow 
of old May-day, even though it be but a shadow ; and I feel more 
and more pleased with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of my 
host, which is surrounding him with agreeable associations, and 
making a little world of poetry about him. Brought up, as I have 
been, in a new country, I may appreciate too highly the faint ves- 
tiges of ancient customs which I now and then meet with, and the 
interest I express in them may provoke a smile from those who 
are negligently suffering them to pass away. But with whatever 
indifference they may be regarded by those " to the manner born," 
yet in my mind the lingering flavor of them imparts a charm to 
rustic life, which nothing else could readily supply. 

I shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May- 
pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesqae 
old bridge that stretches across the river from the quaint little 
city of Chester. I had already been carried back into former 
days by the antiquities of that venerable place ; the examination 
of which is equal to turning over the pages of a black-letter 
volume, or gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May-pole on 
the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My 
fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green 



'216 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight 
of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and ?pread a charm 
over the country for the rest of the day ; and as I. traversed a 
part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of 
Wales, and looked from among swelling hills down a long green 
valley, through w^hich " the Deva wound its wizard stream," my 
imagmation turned all into a perfect Arcadia. 

Whether it be owing to such poetical associations ^arly instill- 
ed into liij mind, or w^hether there is a sympathetic revival and 
budding forth of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that 1 
always experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful expan- 
sion of the heart at the return of May. It is said that birds 
about this time will become restless in their cages, as if instinct 
with the season, conscious of the revelry going on in the groves, 
and impatient to break from their bondage, and join in the jubilee 
of the year. In like manner I have felt myself excited, even in , 
the midst of the metropolis, when the windows, which had been 
churlishly closed all winter, were again thrown open to receive 
the balmy breath of May ; Avhen the sw^eets of the country were 
breathed into the town, and flowers w^ere cried about the streets. 
I have considered the treasures of flow^ers thus poured in, as so 
many missives from nature inviting us forth to enjoy the virgin 
beauty of the year, before its freshness is exhaled by the heats of 
sunny summer. 

One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have been 
in jolly old London, w^ien the doors were decorated with flowenng 
branches, when every hat w^as decked with hawthorn, and Eobin 
TTood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the 
othor fantastic masks and revelers, were performing their antics 
about th(i May-pole in every part of the city. 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 27? 



I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old customs 
merely because of their antiquity ; but while I rejoice in the de- 
cline of many of the rude usages and coarse amusements of former 
days, I regret that this innocent and fanciful festival has fallen 
into disuse. It seemed appropriate to this verdant and pastoral 
country, and calculated to light up the too pervading gravity of 
the nation. I value every custom which tends to infuse poetical 
feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the 
rudeness of rustic manners, without destroying their simplicity. 
Indeed, it is to the decline of this happy simplicity that the de- 
cline of this custom may be traced; and the rural dance on the 
green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually disap- 
peared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and 
artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. 

Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been made of late 
years, by men of both taste and learning, to rally back the popu- 
lar feeling to these standards of primitive simplicity ; but the time 
has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and 
traffic ; the country apes the manners and amusements of the town, 
and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the lamen- 
tations of authors, who sigh after it from among the brick walla 
of the city : 

" For O, for O, the Hobby Horse is forgot." 



VILLAGE WORTHIES. 

Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worbt dog .n .he streel 
will hurt my little finger. 

Collier of Choydon. 

As the neighboring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but gos- 
siping little places where a small matter makes a great stir, it is 
not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of 
May-day can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is 
made a matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. 
Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy Squire, 
and jumps with his humor in every thing, is frequent just now in 
his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fete ; 
and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of accompanying 
him, I have been enabled to get some insight into the characters 
and internal politics of this very sagacious little community. 

Master Simon is in fact the Ccesar of the village. It is true 
the Squire is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active 
and busy agent. He intermeddles in all its concerns ; is ac- 
quainted with all the inhabitants and their domestic history ; gives 
counsel to the old folks in their business matters, and the young 
folks in their love affairs ; and enjoys the proud satisfaction of 
being a great man in a little world. 

He is the dispenser too of the Squire's charity, which is boun 
teous ; and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of 



•280 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



his functions with great alacrity. Indeed I have been entertained 
with the mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness 
which he displays. He is of too vivacious a temperament to 
comfort the afflicted by sitting down moping and winning and 
blowing noses in concert ; but goes whisking about like a sparrow, 
chirping consolation into every hole and corner of the village. I 
have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half an 
hour together v.4th some long phthisical tale of distress, which 
Master Simon listened to with many a bob of the head, smack of 
his dog- whip, and other symptoms of impatience, though he after- 
wards made a most faithful and circumstantial report of the case 
to the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one of his pop 
visits into the cottage of a superannuated villager, who is a pen- 
sioner of the Squire, v/here he fidgeted about the room without 
sitting down, made many excellent off-hand reflections with the 
old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness 
of life, the certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for 
" that awful change ;" quoted several texts of Scripture very 
incorrectly, but much to the edification of the cottager's wife ; 
and on coming out pinched the daughter's rosy cheek, and won- 
dered what was in the young men, that such a pretty face did not 
get a husband. 

He has also his cabinet counselors in the village, with whom 
he is very busy just now, preparing for the May-day ceremonies. 
Among these is the village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, who plays 
fho. clarinet in the church choir ; and, being a great musical ge- 
nius, has frequent meetings of the band at his house, where they 
*' make night hideous" by their concerts. He is, in consequence, 
higli in favor with Master Simon ; and, through his influence, has 
the making, or rather marring, of all the liveries of the Hall 



VILLAGE WORTHIES. 281 



which generally look as though they had been cut out by one of 
those scientific tailors of the Flying Island of Laputa, who took 
measure of their customers with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, 
might rise to be one of the moneyed men of the village, was he 
not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holidays, and give con- 
certs, and blow all his substance, real and personal, through his 
clarinet ; which literally keeps him poor both in body and estate. 
He has for the present thrown by all his regular work, and suf- 
fered the breeches of the village to go unmade and unmended, 
while he is occupied in making garlands of party-colored rags, in 
imitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. 

Another of Master Simon's counselors is the apothecary, a 
short, and rather fat man, with a pair of prominent eyes, that 
diverge like those of a lobster. He is the village wise man ; 
very sententious, and fall of profound remarks on shallow sub- 
jects. Master Simon often quotes his sayings, and mentions him 
as rather an extraordinary man ; and even consults him occa- 
sionally in desperate cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed he 
seems to. have been overwhelmed by the apothecary's philosophy, 
which is exactly one observation deep, consisting of indisputable 
maxims, such as may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco- 
boxes. I had a specimen of his philosophy in my very first con- 
versation with him ; in the course of which he observed, with 
great solemnity and emphasis, that " man is a compound of wis- 
dom and folly ;" upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my 
arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my ear, "that a 
a devilish shrewd remark.*' 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

There will no masse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heeles of Mercury 
ao butter clea\e on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, 
which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, vi^hich 
maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a 
penny — repentance. 

Lilly's Euphues. 

'Among the worthies of the village, that enjoy the peculiar confi- 
dence of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much, 
that I have thought him worthy of a separate notice. It is 
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin elderly man, rather threadbare 
and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, 
good-humored look, not often met with in his craft. I have been 
interested in his favor by a few anecdotes which I have picked 
up concerning him. 

He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and 
playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood. 
Indeed, they carried on a kind of league of mutual good offices. 
Slingsby was rather puny, and withal somewhat of a coward, but 
very apt at his learning : Jack, on the contrary, was a bully-boy 
out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books. Slingsby helped 
Jack, therefore, to all his lessons ; Jack fought all Slingsby's bat- 
tles ; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual kindness 
continued even after they left the scliool, notwithstanding the 



284 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to ploughing and 
reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal acres ; while 
the othe^ploitered negligently on in the path of learning, until he 
penetrated even into the confines of Latin and Mathematics. 

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voyages and 
travels, and was smitten with, a desire to see the Avorld. This de- 
sire increased upon him as he grew up ; so, early one bright sunny 
nurning, he put all his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, 
took staff in hand, and called in his way to take leave of his 
early schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the plough : the 
friends shook hands over the farmhouse gate ; Jack drove his 
team a-field, and Slingsby whistled " over the hills and far away," 
and sallied forth gayly to " seek his fortune." 

Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby w^as for- 
gotten ; when," one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin 
man, somewhat advanced in life, with a coat out at elbow^s, a pair 
of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, 
and sluno; on the end of a stick, w^as seen loiterino; throuo^h the 
village. He appeared to regard several houses attentively, to 
peer into the windows that w^ere open, to eye the villagers wist- 
fully as they returned from church, and then to pass some time in 
the church-yard, reading the tombstones. 

At length he found his w^ay to the farmhouse of Ready- 
Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the wicket ; contem- 
plating the picture of substantial independence before him. In 
the porch of the house sat Eeady-Money Jack, in his Sunday 
dress ; with his hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his 
tankard before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. Beside him 
lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poultry \vere heard 
from the well-stocked farmyard ; the bees hummed from their 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 285 



hives in the garden ; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while 
the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant 
harvest. 

The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously toward 
the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious- 
looking intruder ; but was immediately silenced by his master ; 
who, taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring as- 
pect the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger eyed 
old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked 
out in gorgeous apparel ; then cast a glance upon his own thread- 
bare and starveling condition, and the scanty bundle which he 
held in his hand ; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch to 
make it meet its receding waistband ; and casting another look, 
half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeoman, " I suppose," said 
he, " Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates." 

The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknow- 
ledged that he had no recollection of him. 

" Like enough, like enough," said the stranger ; " every body 
seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby !" 

" "Wliy no, sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby !" 

" Yes, but it is though !" replied the stranger, shaking his 
head. 

Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling ; thrust out 
his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping 
the other hand on a bench, " Sit down there," cried he, " Tom 
Slingsby !" 

A long conversation ensued about old times, Avhile Slingsby 
was regaled with the best cheer that the farmhouse afforded ; for 
ne was hungry as well as wayworn, and had the keen appetite 
of a poor pedestrian. The early playmates then talked over their 



286 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. 



subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little to relate 
and was never good at a long storj. A prosperous life, passed 
at home, has little incident for narrative ; it is only poor devils, 
that are tossed about the world, that are the true heroes of story. 
Jack had stuck by the paternal farm, followed the same plough 
that his forefathers had driven, and had waxed richer and richei 
as he grew older. As to Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplifica- 
tion of the old proverb, " a rolling stone gathers no moss.'' He 
had sought his fortune about the world, without ever finding it , 
being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He had been 
in all kinds of situations, and had learnt a dozen different modes 
of making a living ; but had found his way back to his native 
village rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having 
dwindled down to a scanty bundle. 

As luck w^ould have it, the Squire was passing by the farm- 
house that very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. 
He found the two schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and, 
according to the good old Scottish song, "taking a cup of kindness 
yet, for auld lang syne." The Squire was struck by the contrast 
in appearance and fortunes of these early playmates. Ready- 
Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surrounded by the good things 
of this life, with golden guineas hanging to his very Avatch-chain ; 
and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all his 
worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking-staff, lying on the 
ground beside him. 

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmo- 
polite, for he is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. 
He cast about in his mind how he should contrive once more to 
anchor Slingsby in his native village. Honest Jack had already 
offered him a present shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 287 



and winksj and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets ; 
but how to provide for his permanent maintenance was the ques- 
tion. Luckily, the Squire bethought himself that the village 
school was without a teacher. A little further conversation con- 
vinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as for any thing else, 
and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rod of empire in the 
very school-house where he had often been horsed In the days of 
his boyhood. 

Here he has remained for several years, and, being honored 
by the countenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of Mr.' 
Tibbets, he has grown into much importance and consideratfon in 
the village. I am told, however, that he still shows, now and 
then, a degree of restlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad 
again, and see a little more of the world; an inclination which 
seem? particularly to haunt him about spring-time. There is 
nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant humor, when once? 
it has been fully indulged. 

Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have 
more than once mused upon the picture presented by him and his 
schoolmate Ready-Money Jack, on their coming together again 
after so long a separation. It is difficult to determine between 
lots in life, where each is attended with its peculiar discontents 
He who never leaves his home repines at his monotonous exist- 
ence, and envies the traveler, whose life is a constant tissue of 
wonder and adventure ; while he who is tossed about the world, 
looks back with many a sigh to the safe and quiet shore which he 
has abandoned. I cannot help thinking, however, that the man 
who stays at home, and cultivates the comforts and pleasures daily 
springing up around him, stands the best chance for happiness. 
There is nothing so fascinating to a young mind as the idea of 



288 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



tra\ cling; and there is very witchcraft in the old phrase found in 
every nursery tale, of " going to seek one's fortune." A continual 
change of place, and change of object, promises a continual sue 
cession of adventure and gratification of curiosity.' But there ij 
a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its death ii 
its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeated stimu 
lants ; novelties cease to excite surprise ; until at length we can- 
not wonder even at a miracle. 

He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby_, 
full of sunny anticipations, finds too soon how different the distant 
scene becomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he 
approaches ; the wild place becomes tame and barren ; the fairy 
tints which beguiled him on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather 
ujjon the land he has left behind ; and every part of the landscape 
&e(^ms greener than the spot he stands on. • 



i 



THE SCHOOL. 



But to come down from threat, men and higher matters to my little children and •. cor school- 

0ouse again ; I will, God willing, go forward orderly, as I purposed, to instruct children and 

young men both for learning and manners. 

Roger Ascham. 



Having given the reader a slight sketch oi the village sohocl- 
master^ he may be curious to learn something concerning his 
school. As the- Squire takes much interest in the education of 
the neighboring children, he put into the hands of the teacher, on 
first installing him in office, a copy of Roger Ascham's School- 
master, and advised him, nioreover, to con over that portion of 
old Peachem which treats of the duty of masters, and wliich con- 
demns the favorite method of making boys wise by flagellation. 

He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or depress the free 
spirit of the boys, by harshness and slavish fear, but to lead them 
freely and joyously on in the path of knowledge, making it plea- 
sant and desirable in their eyes. He wished to see the youth 
trained up in the mannei^s and habitudes of the peasantry of the 
good old times, and thus to lay a foundation for the accomplish- 
ment of his favorite object, the revival of old English customs and 
character. He recommended that all the ancient holidays should 
be observe<l, and the sports of the boys, in their hours of play, 
regulated according to the standard authorities laid down in 
Strutt ; a copy of whose invaluable work, decorated Avith plates, 
was deposited in the school-house. Above all, he exhorted the 

13 



ii90 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



pedagogue to abstain from tlie use of birch ; an instrument oi' 
instruction which the good Squire regards as fit only for the coer- 
cion of brute natures, that ciinnot be reasoned Avith. 

Mr. Shngsby has followed the Squire's instructions to the best 
of his disposition and ability. He never flogs the boys, because 
he is too easy, good-humored a creature to inflict pain on a worm. 
He is bountiful in holidays, because he loves holidays himself, 
and has a sympathy with the urchins' impatience of confinement, 
from having divers times experienced its irksomeness during the 
time that he was seeing the world. As to sports and pastimes, 
the boys are faithfully exercised in all that are on record ; quoits, 
races, prison-bars, tipcat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, 
and what not. The only misfortune is, that having banished the 
birch, honest Slingsby has not studied Roger Ascham sufficiently 
to find out a substitute ; or rather, he has not the management in 
his nature to apply one ; his school, therefore, though one of the 
happiest, is one of the most unruly in the country ; and never 
was a pedagogue more liked, or less heeded, by his disciples than 
Slingsby. 

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself; being 
another stray sheep returned to the village fold. This is no 
other than the son of the musical tailor, who had bestowed some 
cost upon his education, hoping one day to see him arrive at the 
dignity of an exciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. The lad 
grew up, however, as idle and musical as his father ; and, being 
captivated by the drum and fife of a recruiting party, followed 
them off to tlie army. He returned not long since, out of money, 
and out at ell)ows, the prodigal son of the village. He remained 
for some time lounging about the place in lialf-tattered soldier's 
dress, witli a foraging cap on one side of his head, jerking stones 



THE SCHOOL. 291 

across the brook, or loitering about the tavern door, a burden to 
his father, and regarded with great coldness by all warm house- 
holders. 

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the youth. 
It might be the kindness he bore to his father, who is one of the 
schoolmaster's great cronies ; it might be that secret sympathy 
which draws men of vagrant propensities toward each other ; for 
there is something truly magnetic in the vagabond feeling ; or it 
might be, that he remembered the time, when he himself had come 
back like this youngster, a w^reck to his native place. At any 
rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby drew towards the youth. 
They had many conversations in the village tap-room about for- 
eign parts, and the various scenes and places they had witnessed 
during their wayfaring about the world. The more Slingsby 
talked with him, the more he found him to his taste : and finding 
him almost as learned as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an 
assistant, or usher, in the school. 

Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be supposed, 
flourishes apace ; and if the scholars do not become versed in all 
the holiday accomplishments of the good old times, to the Squire's 
heart's content, it will not be the fault of their teachers. The 
prodigal son has become almost as popular among the boys as the 
pedagogue himself. His instructions are not limited to school- 
hours ; and having inherited the musical taste and talents of his 
father, he has bitten the whole school with the mania. He is a 
great hand at beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling 
from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching half the boys 
of the village, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes ; and 
they weary the whole neighborhood with their vague pipings, as 
they sit perched on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the 



292 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



evenings. Among the other exercises of the school, also, he has 
introduced the ancient art of archery, one of the Squire's f^ivorite 
themes, with such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands 
about the neighborhood, practicing wath their bows and arrows 
upon the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field ; and not 
unfrequently making a foray into the Squire's domains, to the 
great indignation of the gamekeepers. In a word, so completely 
are the ancient English customs and habits cultivated at this 
school, that I should not be surprised if the Squire should live to 
see one of his poetic visions realized, and a brood reared up, 
worthy successors )o Robin Hood, and his merry gang of outlaws. 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 

I am a rogus if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state ; am so full of nimble 
stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, and carried it against the j ream of a faction, with 
as much ease as a skipper would laver against the wind. 

The Goblins. 

In one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, he pro- 
posed that we should stop at the inn, which he wished to show 
me, as a specimen of a real country inn, the head-quarters of 
village gossip. I had remarked it before, in my perambulations 
about the place. It has a deep old-fashioned porch, leading into 
a large hall, which serves for tap-room and travelers'-room ; hav- 
ing a wide lireplace, with high-backed settles on each side, where 
the wise men of the village gossip over their ale, and hold their 
sessions during the long winter evenings. The landlord is an 
easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little like one of his own beer- 
barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his own door, with his 
wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilst his wife and 
daughter attend to customers. His wife, however, is fully com- 
petent to manage the establishment; and, indeed, from long 
habitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap-room as com- 
pletely as if they were her dependents and not her patrons. Not 
a veteran ale-bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, 
often been in her arrears. I have already hinted that she is on 
very good terms with Ready-Money Jack. He was a sweetheart 



294 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of hers in early life, and has always countenanced the tavern on 
her account. Indeed, he is quite the " cock of the walk " at the 
tap-room. 

As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking with 
great volubility, and distinguished the ominous words, " taxes," 
" poor's rates," and " agricultural distress." It proved to b<* a 
thin, loquacious fellow, who had penned the landlord up in one 
corner of the porch, with his hands in his pockets as usual, listen- 
ing with an air of the most vacant acquiescence. 

The sight seemed to have a curious eiiect on Master Simon, 
as he squeezed my arm, and altering his course, sheered wide of 
the porch, as though he had not had any idea of entering. This 
evident evasion induced me to notice the orator more particularly. 
He was meagre, but active in his make, with a long, pale, bilious 
face ; a black beard, so ill-shaven as to leave marks of blood on 
his shirt-collar; a feverish eye, and a hat sharpened up at the 
sides, into a most pragmatical shape. He had a newspaper in 
Irs hand, and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to the 
thorough conviction of mine host. 

At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evidently a little 
flurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away from his corner, 
and mdve severa. profound publican bows ; while the orator took 
no other notice of my companion than to talk rather louder than 
before, and with, as I thought, something of an air of defiance. 
Master Simon, however, as I have before said, sheered off from 
the porch, and passed on, pressing my arm within his, and whis- 
pering as we got by, in a tone of awe and horror, " Tlial/s a rad- 
ical ! he reads Cobbett !" 

I endeavored to get a more particular account of him from my 
companion, but he seemed unwilling even t .. talk about him, an- 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 295 



sweiing only in general terms, that lie was " a cursed busy fellow, 
that had a confounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother one 
about the national debt, and such nonsense ;" from which I sus- 
pected that Master Simon had been rendered wary of him by 
some accidental encounter on the field of argument ; for these 
radicals are continually roving about in quest of wordy warfare, 
and never so happy as when they can tilt a gentleman logician 
out of his saddle. 

On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been coniirmed. I 
find the radical has but recently found his way into the village, 
where he threatens to commit fearful devastations with his doc- 
trines. He has already made two or three complete converts, or 
new lights ; has shaken the faith of several others ; aiid has 
grievously puzzled the brains of many of the oldest villagers, 
who had never thought about politics, nor scarce any thing else, 
during their whole lives. 

He is lean and meagre from the constant restlessness of mind 
and body ; worrying about with newspapers and pamphlets in his 
pockets, which he is ready to pull out on all occasions. He has 
shocked several of the stanchest villagers by talking lightly of 
the Squire and his family ; and hinting that it would be better 
the park should be cut up into small farms and kitchen-gardens, 
or feed good mutton instead of worthless deer. 

He is a great thorn in the side of the Squire, who is sadly 
afraid that he will introduce politics into the village, and turn it 
into an unhappy, thinking community. He is a still greater 
grievance to Master Simon, who has hitherto been able to sway 
the political opinions of the place, without much cost of learning 
or logic ; but has been much puzzled of late to weed out the 
doubts and heresies already sown by this champion of reform 



296 BRACEBRIDGE HALT. 



Indeed, the latter has taken complete command at the tap-room 
of the tavern, not so much because he has convinced, as because 
he has out-talked all the old established oracles. The apothecary, 
with all his philosophy, was as naught before him. He has con- 
A'inced and converted the landlord at least a dozen times ; who, 
liowever, is liable to be convinced and converted the other way 
by the next person with w^hom he talks. It is true the radical 
has a violent antagoni.st in the landlady, who is vehemently loyal, 
and thoroughly devoted to the king, Master Simon, and the 
Squire. She now and then comes out upon the reformer with all 
the fierceness of a cat-o'-mountain, and does not spare her own 
soft-headed husband, for listening to what she terms such " low- 
lived politics." What makes the good woman the more violent, 
is the perfect coolness with which the radical listens to her attacks, 
drawing his face up into a provoking, supercilious smile ; and 
when she has talked herself out of breath, quietly asking her for 
a taste of her home-brewed. 

The only person in any way a match for this redoubtable poli- 
tician is Eeady-Money Jack Tibbets ; w4io maintains his stand 
in the tap-room, in defiance of the radical and all his works. 
Jack is one of the most loyal men in the country, without being 
able to reason about i\\Q matter. He has that admirable quality for 
a tough arguer, also, that he never knows w^hen he is beat. He 
has half a dozen old maxims, w^hich he advances on all occasions, 
and though his antagonist may overturn them ever so often, yet 
he always brings them anew to the field. He is hke the robber 
in Ariosto, who, though his head might be cut off half a hundred 
♦imes, yet whipped it on his shoulders again in a twinkling, and 
returned as sound a man as ever to the charge. 

AVhatever does not square with Jack's simple and obvious 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 291 



creed, he sets down for " French politics ;" for, notwithstanding 
the peace, he cannot be persuaded that the French are not still 
laying plots to ruin the nation, and to get hold of the Bank of 
England. The radical attempted to overwhelm him one day by a 
long passage from a newspaper ; but Jack neither reads nor be- 
lieves in newspapers. In reply, he gave him one of the stanzas 
which he has by heart from his favorite, and indeed only author, 
old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Rules : 

Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, 
And tend to such doings as stand thee upon ; 
Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, 
And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws. 

When Tibbetts had pronouncea this with great emphasis, he 
pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, took out a handful of gold 
and silver, paid his score at the bar with great punctuality, re- 
turned his money, piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into 
his pocket, which he buttoned up ; and then, giving his cudgel 
a stout thump upon the floor, and bidding the radical " good 
morning, sir !" with the tone of a man who conceives he has com- 
pletely done for his antagonist, he walked with lionlike gravity 
out of the house. Two or three of Jack's admirers who were 
present, and had been afraid to take the field themselves, looked 
upon this as a perfect triumph, and winked at each other w^hen the 
radical's back was turned. " Ay, ay !" said mine host, as soon 
as the radical was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; I'll war 
rant he'll give him his own !" 



15* 



THE ROOKERY. 

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim suliiime 
In still repeated circles ; screaming loud, 
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

CowpER 

In a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns a terrace-walk, 
just on the skirts of the garden, is an ancient rookery ; which is 
one of the most important provinces in the Squire's rural domains* 
The old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not suf 
fer one of them to be killed ; in consequence of which they have 
increased amazingly : the tree-tops are loaded with their nests ; 
they have encroached upon the great avenue, and even established 
in times long past, a colony among the elms and pines of the 
church-yard, which, like other distant colonies, has already thrown 
off allegiance to the mother country. 

The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a very ancien 
and honorable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their no- 
tions, fond of place, and attached to church and state ; as their 
building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in 
the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufTiciently 
manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the Squire put 
me upon observing more narrowly these very respectable birds ; 
for I confess, to my shame, T had been apt to confound them with 



300 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they 
bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, could be 
more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and 
crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and 
Portuguese are among nations, the least loving, in consequence 
of their neighborhood and similarity. The rooks are old-estab- 
lished housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, who have had their 
hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but as to the poor crows, 
they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about 
the country without any settled home ; " their hands are against 
every body, and every body^s against them," and they are gib- 
beted in every cornfield. Master Simon assures me that a 
female rook, who should so far forget herself as to consort with a 
crow, would inevitably be disinherited^ and indeed would be to- 
tally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance. 

The Squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns 
of his sable neighbors. As to Master Simon, he even pretends to 
know many of them by sight, and to have given names to them ; 
he points out several, which he says are old heads of families, and 
compares them to worthy old citizens, beforehand in the world, 
that weai' cocked-hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Not- 
withstanding the protecting benevolence of the Squire, and their 
being residents in his empire, they seem to acknowledge no alle- 
giance, and to hold no intercourse or intimacy. Their airy tene- 
ments are built almost out of the reach of gunshot ; and notwith- 
standing their vicinity to the Ilall, they maintain a most reserved 
and distrustful shyness of mankind. 

There is one season of the year, however, which brings all 
birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest 
high-flier, which is the season of building their nests. This takes 



THE ROOKERY. 30l 



place early in the spring, when the forest-trees first begin to show 
their buds, and the long, withy ends of the branches to turn green ; 
when the wild strawberry and other herbage of the sheltered 
woodlands put forth their tender and tinted leaves ; and the daisy 
and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At this time there 
is a general bustle among the feathered tribes ; an incessant flut- 
tering about, and a cheerful chirping ; indicative, like the germi- 
nation of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fecundity 
of the year. 

It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness, and their 
shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions 
of the air, swinging on the breezy tree-tops, and looking down 
with sovereign contempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, 
they are fain to thrc w off for a time the dignity of the gentleman 
to come down to the ground, and put on the painstaking and in- 
dustrious character of a laborer. They now lose their natural 
shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be seen plying 
about in all directions, with an air of great assiduity, in search of 
building materials. Every now and then your path will be 
crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with 
awkward gait, as if troubled with the gout, or with corns on his 
toes ; casting about many a prying look ; turning down first one 
eye, then the other, in earnest consideration, upon every straw he 
meet^ with ; until, espying some mighty twig, large enough to 
make a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it with avidity, 
and hurry away with it to the tree-top ; fearing, apparently, lest 
you should dispute with him the invaluable prize. 

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather 
fanciful in the materials with which they build, and to like those 
most which come from a distance. TJius, though there are abun- 



302 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



dance of dry twigs on the surrounding trees, yet they never think 
of making use of them, but go foraging in distant lands, and come 
sailing home one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bearing 
in his bill some precious piece of timber. 

ISTor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, rather 
derogates from the grave and honorable character of these ancient 
gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject 
to great dissensions among themselves ; that they make no scruple 
to defraud and plunder each other ; and that sometimes the rookery 
is a Sv^ene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of 
some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally 
remains on the nest to guard it from depredation ; and I have seen 
severe contests, when some sly neighbor has endeavored to filch 
away a tempting rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not 
willing hastily to admit any suspicion derogatory to the general 
character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think these 
larcenies discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigor- 
ously punished by those in authority ; for I have now and then 
seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, 
pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luck- 
less proprietor. I have concluded this to be a signal punishment 
inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering 
misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying 
an execution into his house. 

I have been amused with another of their movements during 
the building season. The steward has suffered a considerable 
number of sheep to graze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to 
tlie annoyance of the Squire, who thinks this an innovation on the 
dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer only. Be 
this as it may, there is a green knoll, not far from the drawing- 



THE ROOKERY. 303 



room window, where the ewes and lambs are accustomed to assem- 
ble towards evening, for the benefit of the setting sun. No sooner 
were they gathered here, at the time when these politic birds were 
building, than a stately old rook, who Master Simon assured me 
was the chief magistrate of this community, would settle down 
upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming unconscious of this 
condescension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed in mo- 
tionless reverence of her august burden; the rest of the rookery 
would then come wheeling down, in imitation of their leader, until 
every ewe had two or three of them cawing, and fluttering, and 
battling upon her back. Whether they requited the submission 
of the sheep, by levying a contribution upon their fleece for the 
benefit of the rookery, I am not certain ; though I presume they 
followed the usual custom of protecting powers. 

The latter part of May is the time of great tribulation among 
the rookeries, when the young are just able to leave the nests, and 
balance themselves on the neighboring branches. Now comes on 
the season of " rook-shooting ;" a terrible slaughter of the innocents. 
The Squire, of course, prohibits all invasion of the kind on his 
territories ; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes place in 
the colony about the old church. Upon this devoted common- 
wealth the village charges " with all its chivalry." Every idle 
wight, lucky enough to possess an old gun or blunderbuss, together 
with all the archery of Slingsby's school, takes the field on the occa- 
sion. In vain does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in 
angry tones, from his study window that looks into the church- 
yard ; there is a continual popping from morning till night. 
Being no great marksmen, their shots are not often effective ; but 
£very now and then a great shout from the besieging army of bump- 
kins makes known the downfall of some unlucky, squab rook, whicli 



304 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



comes to the ground with the emphasis of a squashed apple- 
dumpling. 

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles and disas- 
ters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded a community, which 
boasts so much ancient blood and hereditary pride, it is natural to 
suppose that questions of etiquette will sometimes arise, and affairs 
of honor ensue. In fact, this is very often the case ; bitter quar- 
rels break out between individuals, which produce sad scuffling^ 
on the tree-tops, and I have more than once seen a regular duel 
between two doughty heroes of the rookery. Their field of bat- 
tle is generally the air ; and their contest is managed in the most 
scientific and elegant manner ; wheeling round and round each 
other, and towering higher and higher, to get the vantage ground, 
until they sometimes disappear in the clouds before the combat is 
determined. 

They have also fierce combats now and then with an invading 
hawk, and will drive him off from their territories by a posse 
comitatis. They are also extremely tenacious of their domains, 
and will suffer no other bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. 
A very ancient and respectable old bachelor owl had for a long 
time his lodgings in a corner of the grove, but has been fairly 
ejected by the rooks ; and has retired, disgusted with the world, 
to a neighboring wood, where he leads the life of a hermit, and 
makes nightly complaints of his ill treatment. 

The hooting^ of this unhappy gentleman may generally be 
heard in the still evenings, when the rooks are all at rest ; and 
I have often listened to them, of a moonlight night, with a 
kind of mysterious gratification. This gray-bearded misanthrope 
of course is highly respected by the Squire; but the servants^ 
have superstitious notions about him ; and it would be difficult to 



THE ROOKERYf. 305 



get the dairy-maid to venture after dark near to the wood which 
he inhabits. 

Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are other mis- 
fortunes to which they are liable, and which often bring distress 
into the most respectable families of the rookery. Having the 
true baronial spirit of the good old feudal times, they are apt 
now and then to issue forth from their castles on a foray, and lay 
the plebeian fields of the neighboring country under contribution ; 
in the course of which chivalrous expeditions they now and then 
get a shot from the rusty artillery of some refractory farmer. 
Occasionally, too, while they are quietly taking the air beyond 
the park boundaries, they have the incaution to come within 
reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby's school, and receive a 
flight shot from some unlucky urchin's arrow. In such case the 
wounded adventurer will sometimes have just strength enough to 
bring himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, will 
hang dangling '^ all abroad " on a bough, like a thief on a gibbet ; 
an awful warning to his friends, and an object of great commise- 
ration to the Squire. 

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have, 
upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young 
are reared, and fairly launched upon their native element, the air, 
the cares of the old folks seem over, and they resume all their 
aristocratical dignity and idleness. I have envied them the 
enjoyment which they appear to have in their ethereal heights, 
sporting with clamorous exultation about their lofty bowers ; 
sometimes hovering over them, sometimes partially alighting 
upon the topmost branches, and there balancing with outstretched 
wings, and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they seem to take 
ft fashionable drive to the church, and amuse themselves by cir 



306 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



cling in airy rings about its spire ; at other times a mere garrison 
is left at home to mount guard in their strong-hold at the grove, 
while the rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About 
sunset the irarrison gives notice of their return ; their faint caw- 
ing will be heard from a great distance, and they will be seen far 
off like a sable cloud, and then, nearer and nearer, until they all 
come soaring home. Then they perform several grand circuits 
in the air, over the Hall and garden, wheeling closer and closer, 
until they gradually settle down ; when a prodigious cawing takes 
place, as though they were relating their day's adventures. 

I like at such times to walk about these dusky groves, and 
hear the various sounds of these airy people roosted so high 
above me. As the gloom increases, their conversation subsides, 
and they gradually drop asleep ; but every now and then there is 
a querulous note, as if some one was quarreling for a pillow, or a 
little more of the blanket. It is late in the evening before they 
comjjletely sink to repose, and then their old anchorite neighbor, 
the owl, begins his lonely hootings from his bachelor's-hall, in the 
wood. 



MAY-DAY. 



It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets now appear ; 
Now the rose receives its birth, 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 

Then to the May-pole come away, 

For it is now a holiday. 

ACTEON AND DiANA. 



As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of those hulf 
dreams, half reveries, which are so pleasant in the country, when 
the birds are singing about the window, and the sunbeams peep- 
ing through the curtains, I was roused by the sound of music. 
On going down stairs, I found a number of villagers, dressed in 
their holiday clothes, bearing a pole ornamented with garlands 
and ribbons, and accompanied by the village band of music, under 
the direction of the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clari- 
net. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, " the 
May," in their hats, and had brought green branches and flowers 
to decorate the Hall door and windows. They had come to give 
notice that the May-pole was reared on the green, and to invite 
the household to witness the sports. The Hall, according to 
custom, became a scene of hurry and delighted confusion. The 
servants were all agog with May and music ; and there was no 
keeping either the tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, wlio 



308 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



were anticipating the sports of the green, and the evtjrnr-g 
dance. 

I repaired to the village at an early hour to enjoy the merry- 
making. The morning was pure and sunny, such as a May 
morning is ahvays described. The fields w^ere white wdth daisies, 
the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee 
nummed about every bank, and the swallow played high in the 
air about the village steeple. It was one of those genial days 
w^hen we seem to draw^ in pleasure with the very air w^e breathe, 
and to feel happy we know^ not wdiy. Whoever has felt the 
worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely w^oman, will, on 
such a day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all 
alive wdth long-buried recollections. " For thenne," says the 
excellent romance of King Arthur, " lovers call ageyne to their 
mynde old gentilnes and old servyse, and many kind dedes that 
w^ere forgotten by neglygence." 

Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole tow^ering 
above the cottages, with its gay garlands and streamers, and 
heard the sound of music. Booths had been set up near it, for the 
reception of company ; and a bowser of green brandies and flowers 
fo the Queen of May, a fresh, rosy-cheeked girl of the village. 

A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green in their 
fantastic dresses, jingling w^ith hawks' bells, with a boy dressed 
up 9.S JMaid Marian, and the attendant fool rattling his box to 
collect contributions from the bystanders. The gipsy-women too 
were already plying their mystery in by-corners of the village, 
reading the hands of the simple country girls, and no doubt pro- 
mising them all good husbands and tribes of children. 

The Squire made his appearance in the course of the morn- 
ing, attended by the parson, and was received with loud acclama- 



MAY-DAY. 309 



tions. He mingled among the country people throughout the 
day, giving and receiving pleasure wherever he went. The 
amusements of the day were under the management of Slingsby, 
the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord of misrule in his school, 
but master of the revels to the village. He was bustling about 
with the perplexed and anxious air of a man who has the oppres- 
sive burden of promoting other people's merriment upon his 
mind. He had involved himself in a dozen scrapes in conse- 
quence of a politic intrigue, which, by the by, Master Simon and 
the Oxonian were at the bottom of, which had for its object the 
election of the Queen of May. He had met with violent opposition 
from a faction of ale-drinkers, who were in favor of a bouncing 
bar-maid, the daughter of the inn-keeper ; but he had been too 
strongly backed not to carry his point, though it shows that these 
rural crowns, like all others, are objects of great ambition and 
heart-burning. I am told that Master Simon takes great interest, 
though in an underhand way, in the election of these May-day 
Queens ; and that the chaplet is generally secured for some rustic 
beauty who has found favor in his eyes. 

In the course of the day there were various games of strength 
and agility on the green, at which a knot of village veterans pre- 
sided, as judges of the lists. Among these Ready-Money Jack 
took the lead, looking with a learned and critical eye on th6> 
merits of the different candidates ; and though he was very laco- ' 
nic, and sometimes merely expressed himself by a nod, it was 
evident his opinions far outweighed those of the most loquacious. 

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and carried oflP 
iHost of the prizes, though in some of the feats of agility he was 
rivaled by the " prodigal son," who appeared much in his element 
on this occasion ; but his most formidable competitor was the 



310 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



notorious gipsy, the redoubtable " Star-light Tom." I was rejoiced 
at having an opportunity of seeing this " minion of the moon " in 
broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, 
with a lofty air, something like what I have seen in an Indian 
chieftain ; and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful 
carriage, which I have often remarked in beings of the lazaroni 
order, who lead an idle, loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike 
contempt of labor. 

Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the ground 
toorether, and indulg-ed a vast deal of harmless rakino^ amon<y the 
buxom country girls. Master Simon would give some of them a 
kiss on meeting with them, and would ask after their sisters, for 
he is acquainted with most of the farmers' families. Sometimes 
he would whisper, and affect to talk mischievously with them, 
and, if bantered on the subject, would turn it off with a laugh, 
though it was evident he liked to be suspected of being a gay 
Lothario amongst them. 

He had much to say to the farmers about their farms ; and 
seemed to know all their horses by name. There was an old fel- 
low, with a round ruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the 
village wit, who took several occasions to crack a joke with him 
in the hearing of his companions, to whom he would turn and 
wink hard when Master Simon had passed. 

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at one time, 
been interrupted, by the appearance of the radical on the ground, 
with two or three of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argu- 
ment in the very thick of the throng, above which I could hear 
his voice, and now and then see his meagre hand, half a mile out 
of the sleeve, elevated in the air in violent gesticulation, and flou- 
rishing a pamphlet by way of truncheon. He was decrying these 



MAY-DAY. 311 



idle nonsensical amusements in times of public distress, when it 
was every one's business to tliink of other matters, and to be 
miserable. The honest village logicians could make no stand 
against him, especially as he was seconded by his proselytes ; 
when, to their great joy. Master Simon and the general came 
drifting down into the field of action.. Master Simon was for 
makino- off, as soon as he found himself in the neiofhborhood of 
this fireship ; but the general was too loyal to suffer such talk m 
his hearing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from 
a gentleman would be sufficient to shut up so shabby an orato/. 
The latter, however, was no respecter of persons, but rathei 
exulted in having such important antagonists. He talked with 
greater volubility than ever, and soon drov^^ned them in declama- 
tion on the subject of taxes, poors' rates, and the national debt. 
Master Simon endeavored to brush along in his usual excursive 
manner, which always answered amazingly well with the villagers ; 
but the radical was one of those pestilent fellows that pin a man 
down to facts ; and, indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his 
pocket, to support every thing he advanced by printed documents. 
The general, too, found himself betrayed into a more serious 
action than his dignity could brook ; and looked like a mighty 
Dutch Indiaman grievously peppered by a petty privateer. In 
vain he swelled and looked big, and talked large, and endeavored 
to make up by pomp of manner for poverty of matter ; every 
home-thrust of the radical made him wheeze like a bellows, and 
seemed to let a volume of wind out of him. In a word, the two 
worthies from the Hall were completely dumbfounded, and this 
too in the presence of several of Master Simon's stanch admirers, 
who had always looked up to him as infallible. I do not know 
how he and the general would liave manai2:ed to draw iW\r f*)rces 



312 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



decently from the field, had not a match at grinning through a 
horse-collar been announced, whereupon the radical retired with 
great expression of contempt, and, as soon as his back was turned^ 
the argument was carried against him all hollow. 

" Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general ?" said Mas- 
ter Simon ; " there's no talking with one of these chaps when he 
once gets that confounded Cobbett in his head." 

" S'blood, sir !" said the general, wiping his forehead, " such 
fellows ought to be transported !" 

In the latter part of the day the ladies from the Hall paid a 
visit to the green. The fair Julia made her appearance, leaning 
on her lover's arm, and looking extremely pale and interesting. 
As she is a great favorite in the village, where she has been 
known from childhood ; and as her late accident had been much 
talked about, the sight of her caused very manifest delight, and 
some of the old women of the village blessed her sweet face as 
she passed. 

While they were walking about, I noticed the schoolmaster in 
earnest conversation with the Queen of May, evidently endeavor- 
ing to spirit her up to some formidable undertaking. At length, 
as the party from the Hall approached her bower, she came forth, 
faltering at every step, until she reached the spot where. the fair 
Julia stood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little 
Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from her head, and 
attempted to put it on that of the bride elect ; but the confusion 
of both was so great, that the wreath would have fallen to the 
ground, had not the officer caught it, and, laughing, placed it upon 
the blushing brows of his mistress. There was something charm- 
ing in the very embarrassment of these two young creatures, both 
60 beautiful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. Mast^ 



MAY-DAY. 313 



Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of May was to have 
spoken a few verses which the schoohiiaster had v/ritten for her ; 
but she had neither wdt to understand, nor memory to recollect 
them. '' Besides," added he, " betAveen you and I, she murders 
tlie king's English abominably ; so she has acted the part of a 
wise woman in holding her tongue, and trusting to her pretty face." 

Among the other characters from the Hall was Mrs. Hannah, 
my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman : to my surprise she was es- 
corted by old Christy, the huntsman, and followed by his ghost of 
a greyhound ; but I find they are very old acquaintances, being 
drawn together by some sympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah 
moved about Avith starched dignity among the rustics, who drew 
back from her v/ith more awe than they did from her mistress. 
Her mouth seiimed shut as with a clasp ; excepting that I now 
and then heard the ay or d " felloAA\s !'' escape from betAveen her 
lips, as she got accidentally jostled in the croAvd. 

But there Avas one other heart present that did not enter into 
the merriment of the scene, Avhich Avas that of the simple Phoebe 
Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. The poor girl has continued 
to pine and AA^hine for some time past, in consequence of the ob- 
stinate coldness of her lover ; never was a little flirtation more 
severely punished. She appeared this day on the green, gal- 
lanted by a smart servant out of livery, and had evidently resolved 
to try the hazardous experiment of aAvakening the jaalousy of 
her loA^er. She Avas dressed in her very best ; affected an air of 
great gayety ; talked loud and girlishly, and laughed Avhen theiti 
Avas nothing to laugh at. There Avas, however, an acliing, lieavy 
heart, in the poor baggage's bosom, in spite of all her levity. 
Her eye turned every now and then in quest of her reckless 
lover, and her cheek greAV pale, and her fictitious gayety van- 

14 



314 BRACEBRIDGE HALT. 



islied, on seeing him paying his rustic homage to the little May 
day Queen. 

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle 
Music was heard from a distance ; a banner was advancing up 
the road, preceded by a rustic band playing something like a 
ma]-ch, and followed by a sturdy throng of country lads, the chiv- 
alry of a neighboring and rival village. 

ISTo sooner had they reached the green than they challenged 
the heroes of the day to new trials of strength and activity. 
Several gymnastic contests ensued for the honor of the respective 
villages. In the course of these exercises, young Tibbets and 
the champion of the adverse party had an obstinate match at 
\vrestling. They tugged, and strained, and panted, without either 
getting the mastery, nntil both came to the ground, and rolled 
upon the green. Just then the disconsolate Phoebe came by. 
She saw her recreant lover in fierce contest, as she thought, and 
in danger. In a moment pride, pique, and coquetry were forgot- 
ten : she rushed into the ring, seized upon the rival champion by 
the hair, and was on the point of wa-eaking on him her puny ven- 
geance, when a buxom, strapping coimtry lass, the sweetheart of 
the prostrate swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and would 
have stripped her of her fine plumage in a twinkling, had she 
also not been seized in her turn. 

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two villages 
became embroiled. Blows began to be dealt, and sticks to be 
flourished. Phoebe w^as carried off from the field in hysterics. 
In vain did the sages of the village interfere. The sententious 
apothecary endeavored to pour the soothing oil of his philosophy 
upon this tempestuous sea of passion, but was tumbled into the 
lust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a great lover of peace* 



xM AY-DAY. 315 



went into the midst of the throng, as marshal of the day, to put 
an end to the connmotion ; but was rent in twain, and came out 
with his garment hanging in two strips from his shoulders : upon 
which the prodigal son dashed in with fury to revenge the insult 
sustained by his patron. The tumult thickened ; I caught 
glimpses of the jockey-cap of old. Christy, like the helmet of a 
chieftain, bobbing about in the midst of the scuffle ; while Mis- 
tress Hannah, separated from her doughty protector, was squalling 
and striking at right and left with a faded parasol ; being tossed 
and tousled about by the crowd in such wise as never happened 
to maiden gentlewoman before. 

At length old Keady-Money jack made his way into the very 
thickest of the throng ; tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing 
peace, vi et armis. It was surprising to see the sudden quiet that 
ensued. The storm settled down at once into tranquillity. The 
parties, having no real grounds of hostility, were readily pacified, 
and in fact were a little at a loss to know why and how they had got 
by the ears. Slingsby was speedily stitched together again by his 
friend the tailor, and resumed his usual good humor. Mrs. Han- 
nah drew on one side to plume her rumpled feathers ; and old 
Christy, having repaired his damages, took her under his arm, 
^nd they swept back again to the Hall, ten times more bitter 
against mankind than ever. 

The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recovering from the 
agitation of the scene. Young Jack was evidently very much 
moved by the heroism of the unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who 
had been summoned to the field of action by news of the affray, 
was in a sad panic, and had need of all her management to keep 
him from following his mistress, and coming to a perfect recon- 
ciliation. 



316 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the good man- 
aging dame was, that the matter had aroused the slow apprehen- 
sion of old Readj-Monej himself; who was very much struck by 
the intrepid interference of so pretty and delicate a girl, and was 
sadly puzzled to understand the meaning of the violent agitation 
in his family. 

When all this came to the ears of the Squire, he was griev- 
ously scandalized that his May-day fete should have been dis- 
graced by such a brawl. He ordered Phoebe to appear before 
him, but the girl was so frightened and distressed, that she came 
sobbing and trembling, and, at the first question he asked, fell 
again into hysterics. Lady Lilly craft, who understood there was 
an affair of the heart at the bottom of this distress, immediately 
took the girl into great favor and protection, and made her peace 
with the Squire. This was the only thing that disturbed the har- 
mony of the day, if we except the discomfiture of Master Simon 
and the general by the radical. Upon the whole, therefore, the 
Squire had very fair reason to be satisfied that he had rode his 
hobby throughout the day without any other molestation. 

The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive that all 
this was but a faint shadow of the once gay and fanciful rites of 
May. The peasantry have lost the proper feeling for these rites, 
and have grown almost as strange to them as the boors of La 
Mancha were to the customs of chivalry in the days of the valor- 
ous Don Quixote. Lideed, I considered it a proof of the discre- 
tion with which the Squire rides his hobby, that -he had not pushed 
the thing any farther, nor attempted to revive many obsolete 
usages of the day, which, in the present matter-of-fact times, 
would appear affected and absurd. I must say, though I do it 
under the rose, the general brawl in which this festival had nearly 



MAY-DAY. 317 



terminated, has made me doubt whether these rural customs of 
the good old times were always so very loving and innocent as 
we are apt to fancy them ; and whether the peasantry in those 
times were really so Arcadian as they have been fondly repre- 
sented. I begin to fear — 



'* Those days were never ; airy dreams 



Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand. 
Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it ; I still must envy them an age 
That favoi-*d such a dream." 



THE MANTJSCmPT. 

Yesterday was a day of quiet and repose after the bustle of 
May-day. During the morning I joined the ladies in a small 
sitting-room, the windows of which came down to the floor, and 
opened upon a terrace of the garden, which was set out with deli- 
cate shrubs and flowers. The soft sunshine falling into the room 
through the branches of trees that overhung the windows, the 
sweet smell of flowers, and the singing of birds, produced a pleas- 
ing yet calming effect on the whole party. Some time elapsed 
without any one speaking : Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton 
were sitting by an elegant work-table, near one of the windows, 
fXicupied with some pretty lady-like work. The captain was on 
a stool at his mistress' feet, looking over some music ; and poor 
Phoebe Wilkins, who has always been a kind of pet among the 
ladies, but who has risen vastly in favor with Lady Lillycraft, in 
consequence of some tender confessions, sat in one corner of the 
room, with swollen eyes, working pensively at some of the fair 
Julia's wedding ornaments. 

The silence was interrupted by her ladyship, who suddenly 
proposed a task to the captain. " I am in your debt," said she, 
" for that tale you read to us the other da} ; I will now furnish 
one in return, if you'll read it: and it is just suited to this sweet 
May morning, for it * \ll about love !'* 



320 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



The proposition seemed to deliglit every one present. The 
captain smiled assent. Her ladyship rang for her page, and dis- 
patched him to her room for the manuscript. " As the captain," 
said she, " gave us an account of the author of his story, it is but 
right I should give one of mine. It was written by the parson of 
the parish where I reside. He is a thin, elderly man, jf a deli- 
cate constitution, but positively one of the most charming men 
that ever lived. He lost his wife a few years since ; one of the 
sweetest women you ever saw. He has two sons, whom he edu- 
cates himself; both of whom already write delightful poetry. 
His parsonage is a lovely place, close by the church, all overrun 
with ivy and honeysuckles ; with the sv\^eetest flower-garden 
about it; for, you know, our country clergymen are almost al- 
ways fond of flowers, and make their parsonages perfect pictures. 

" His living is a very good one, and he is very much beloved, 
and does a great deal of good in the neighborhood, and among the 
poor. And then such sermons as he preaches ! Oh, if you could 
only hear one taken from a text in Solomon's Song, all about love 
and matrimony, one of the sweetest things you ever heard ! Ho 
preaches it at least once a year, in spring time, for he knows I 
am fond of it. He always dines with me on Sundays, and often 
brings me some of the sweetest pieces of poetry, all about the 
pleasures of melancholy, and such subjects, that make me cry so, 
you can't think. I wish he would publish. I think he has some 
things as sweet as any thing of Moore or Lord Byron. 

" He fell into very ill health, some time ago, and was advised 
to go to the continent ; and I gave him no peace until he went, 
and promised to take care of his two boys until he returned. 

"He was gone for above a year, and was quite restored. 
When he came back, he sent me the tale I'm going to show you. 



THE MANUSCRIPT. 321 



. — Oh, here it is !" said she, as the page put in her hands a beau- 
tiful box of satin-wood. She unlocked it, and among several 
parcels of notes on embossed paper, cards of charades, and copies 
of verses, she drew out a crimson velvet case, that smelt very 
much of perfumes. From this she took a manuscript, daintily 
written on gilt-edged vellum paper, and stitched with a light blue 
ribbon. This she handed to the captain, who read the following 
tale, which I have procured for the entertainment of the reader. 



14* 



i 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 

The soldier frae the war returns. 
And the merchant from the main, 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again, 

My dear, • 

And ne'er to meet again. 

When day is gone, and night is come. 
And a' are boun to sleep, 
I think on them that's ^^^|v^ 
The lee-lang night and weep, 
My dear, 
The lee-lang night and weep. 

Old Scotch Ballad. 

In the course of a tour in Lower Normandy I remained for a 
day or two at the old town of Honfleur, which stands near the 
mouth of the Seine. It was the time of a fete, and all the world 
was thronging in the evening to dance at the fair, held before the 
cTiapel of Our Lady of Grace. As I like all kinds of innocent 
merry-making, I joined the throng. 

The chapel is situated at the top of a high hill, or promon- 
tory, whence its bell may be heard at a distance by the mariner 
at night. It is said to have given the name to the port of Havre 
de Grace, which lies directly opposite, on the other side of the 
Seine. The road up to the chapel went in a zig-zag course, 
along the brow of the steep coast ; it was shaded by trees, from 



324 BRACEBRIDGL HALL. 



between which I had beautiful peeps at the ancient towers of 
Honfleur below, the varied scenery of the opposite shore, the 
w^hite buildings of Havre in the distance, and the wide sea be- 
yond. The road was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in 
bright crimson dresses, and tall caps ; and I found all the flower 
of the neighborhood assembled on the green that crowns the sum- 
mit of the hill. 

The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a favorite resort of 
the inhabitants of Honfleur and its vicinity, both for pleasure and 
devotion. At this little chapel prayers are put up by the mari- 
ners of the port previous to their voyages, and by their friends 
during their absence ; and votive offerings are hung about its 
walls, in fulfillment of vows made during times of shipwreck and 
disaster. The chapel is simounded by trees. Over the portal 
is an image of the Virgii^nd Child, with an inscription which 
struck me as being quite poetical : 



" Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous !" 
(Star of the sea, pray for us.) 

On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove of noble trees, the 
populace dance on fine summer evenings ; and here are held fre- 
quent fairs and fetes, w^hich assemble all the rustic beauty of the 
loveliest parts of Lower Normandy. The present w^as an occa-' 
sion of tlie kind. Booths and tents w^ere erected among the trees ; 
there were the usual displays of finery to tempt the rural coquette 
and of wonderful shows to entice the curious ; mountebanks were 
exerting their eloquence ; jugglers and fortune-tellers astonishing 
l!ie credulous ; while whole rows of grotesque saints, in wood and 
wax-work, were offered for the purchase of the pious. 

The fete had assembled in one view all the picturesque cos 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 325 



tumes of the Pays d'Auge, and the Cot3 de Caux. I beheld taU 
stately caps, and trim bodices, according to fashions which have 
been handed down from mother to daughter for centuries ; the 
exact counterparts of those worn in the time of the Conqueror ; 
and which surprised me by their faithful resemblance to those in 
the old pictures of Froissart's Chronicles, and in the paintings of 
illuminated manuscripts. Any one, also, who has been in Lower 
Normandy, must have remarked the beauty of the peasantry, and 
that air of native elegance w^hich prevails among them. It is to 
this country, undoubtedly, that the English owe their good looks. 
It was hence that the bright carnation, the fine blue eye, the light 
auburn hair, passed over to England in the train of the Con- 
queror, and filled the land with beauty. 

The scene before me was perfe^y enchanting; the assem- 
blage of so many fresh and blooming faces ; the gay groups in 
fanciful dresses ; some dancing on the green, others strolling about, 
or seated on the grass ; the fine clumps of trees in the foreground, 
bordering the brow of this airy height, and the broad green sea, 
sleeping in summer tranquillity, in the distance. 

Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I was struck 
with the appearance of a beautiful girl, who passed through the 
crowd without seeming to take any interest in their amusements. 
She was slender and delicate, without the bloom upon her cheek 
usual among the peasantry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had 
a singular and melancholy expression. She was accompanied by 
a venerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be her father. 
There was a whisper among the bystanders, and a wistful look 
after her as she passed ; the young men touched their hats, and 
some of the children followed her at a little distance, watching 
her movements. She approached the edge of the hill, where 



326 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



there is a little platform, whence the people of Honfleur look 
out for the approach of vessels. Here she stood for some time 
waving her handkerchief, though there was nothing to be seen 
but two or three fishing-boats, like mere specks on the bosom 
of the distant ocean. 

These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I made some 
inquiries about her, which were answered with readiness and 
intelligence by a priest of the neighboring ctapel. Our conver- 
sation drew together several of the bystanders, each of whom 
had something to communicate, and from them all I gathered the 
following particulars. 

Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one of the higher 
order of farmers, or small proprietors, as they are called, of 
Pont I'Eveque, a pleasant ^lage not far from Honfleur, in that 
rich pastoral part of Lower Normandy called the Pays d'Auge. 
Annette was the pride and delight of her parents, who brought 
her up with the fondest indulgence. She was gay, tender, petu- 
lant, and susceptible. All her feelings were quick and ardent ; 
and having never experienced contradiction nor restraint, she was 
little practiced in self-control: nothing but the native goodnesp 
of her heart kept her from running continually into error. 

Even while a child, her susceptibility was evinced in an attach- 
ment formed to a playmate, Eugene la Forgue, the only son of a 
widow of the neighborhood. Their childish love was an epitome 
of maturer passion ; it had its caprices, and jealousies, and quar- 
rels, and reconciliations. It was assuming something of a graver 
character as Annette entered her fifteenth, and Eugene his nine- 
teenth year, when he was suddenly carried off to the army by the 
conscription. 

It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, for he was her 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 327 



only pride and comfort ; but it was one of those sudden bereave- 
ments which mothers were perpetually doomed to feel in France, 
during the time that continual and bloody wars were incessantly 
draining her youth. It was a temporary affliction also to Annette, 
to lose her lover. With tender embraces, half-childish, half- 
womanish, she parted from him. The tears streamed from her 
blue eyes, as she bound a braid of her fair hair round his wrist ; 
but the smiles still broke through ; for she was yet too young to feel 
how serious a thing is separation, and how many chances there are, 
when parting in this wide world, against our ever meeting again. 

Weeks, months, years flew by. Annette increased in beauty 
as she increased in years, and was the reigning belle of the neigh- 
borhood. Her time passed innocently and happily. Her father 
was a man of some consequence in the rural community, and his 
house was the resort of the gayest of the village. Annette held 
a kind of rural court ; she was always surrounded by companions 
of her own age, among whom she shone unrivaled. Much of their 
time was past in making lace, the prevalent manufacture of the 
neighborhood. As they sat at this delicate and feminine labor, the 
merry tale and sprightly song went round : none laughed with a 
hghter heart than Annette ; and if she sang, her voice was perfect 
melody. Their evenings were enlivened by the dance, or by those 
pleasant social games so prevalent among the French ; and when 
she appeared at the village ball on Sunday evenings, she was the 
theme of universal admiration. 

As she was a rural heiress, she did not want for suitors. 
Many advantageous offers were made her, but she refused them 
all. She laughed at the pretended pangs of her admirers, and 
triumphed over them with the caprice of buoyant youth and con- 
Bcious beauty. With all her apparent levity, however, could any 



328 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



one have read the story of her heart, they might have traced in it 
some fond remembrance of her early playmate, not so deeply 
graven as to be painful, but too deep to be easily obliterated ; and 
they might have noticed, amidst all her gayety, the tenderness 
that marked her manner towards the mother of Eugene. She 
would often steal away from her youthful companions and their 
amusements, to pass whole days with the good widow ; listening 
to her fond talk about her boy, and blushing with secret pleasure 
when his letters were read, at finding herself a constant theme of 
recollection and inquiry. 

At length the sudden return of peace, which sent many a war- 
rior to his native cottage, brought back Eugene, a young sunburnt 
soldier, to the village. I need not say how rapturously his return 
was greeted by his mother, who saw in him the pride and staff of 
her old age. He had risen in the service by his merit; but 
brought away little from the wars, excepting a soldierlike air, a 
gallant name, and a scar across the forehead. He brought back, 
however, a nature unspoiled by the camp. He was frank, open, 
generous, and ardent. His heart was quick and kind in its im- 
pulses, and was perhaps a little softer from having suffered : it was 
full of tenderness for Annette. He had received frequent accounts 
of her fron^ his mother ; and the mention of her kindness to his 
lonely parent had rendered her doubly dear to him. He had been 
wounded ; he had been a prisoner ; he had been in various trou- 
bles, but had always preserved the braid of hair, which she had 
bound round his arm. It had been a kind of talisman to him ; he 
liad many a time looked upon it as he lay on the hard ground, and 
the thought that he might one day see Annette again, and the fair 
fields about his native village, had cheered his heart, and enabled 
him to bear up against every hardship. ^ 



aNNETTPJ DELARBRE. 329 



He had left Annette almjst a child ; he found her a blooming 
woman. If he had loved Ler before, he now adored her. An- 
nette vvas equally struck with the improvement time had made in 
her lover. Slie noticed, with secret admiration, his superiority to 
tiie other young men of the village ; the frank, lofty, military air, 
that distinguished him from all the rest at their rural gatherings. 
The more she saw him, the more her light, playful fondness of 
former years deepened into ardent and powerful affection. But 
Annette was a rural belie. She had tasted the sweets of domin- 
ion, and had been rendered willful and capricious by constant 
indulgence at home, and admiration abroad. She was conscious 
of her power over Eugene, and delighted in exercising it. She 
sometimes treated him with petulant caprice, enjoying the pain 
which she inflicted by her frowns, from the idea how soon she 
would chase it away again by her smiles. She took a pleasure in 
alarming his fears, by affecting a temporary preference for some 
one or other of his rivals ; and then would delight in allaying 
them by an ample measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there 
was some degree of vanity gratified by all this ; it might be a 
matter ^f triumph to show her absolute power over the young 
soldier, who was the universal object of female admiration, Eu- 
gene, however, was of too serious and ardent a nature to be trifled 
with. He loved too fervently not to be filled with doubt. He 
saw Annette surrounded by admirers, and full of animation ; the 
gayest among the gay at all their rural festivities, and apparently 
most gay when he was most dejected. Every one saw through 
this caprice but himself ; every one saw that in reality she doted 
Dn him ; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity of her aflection. 
For some time he bore this coquetry with secret impatience and 



330 BRACEBPvIDGE HALL. 



distrust ; but his feelings grew sore and irntable, and overcame 
his self-command. A slight misunderstanding took place ; a 
quarrel ensued. Annette, unaccustomed to be thwarted and con- 
tradicted, and full of the insolence of youthful beauty, assumed 
an air of disdain. She refused all explanations to her lover, and 
they parted in anger. That very evening Eugene saw her, full 
of gayety, dancing Avith one of his rivals ; and as her eye caught 
his, fixed on her with unfeigned distress, it sparkled with more 
than usual vivacity. It was a finishing blow to his hopes, already 
so much impaired by secret distrust. Pride and resentment both 
struggled in his breast, and seemed to rouse his spirit to all its 
wonted energy. He retired from her presence with the hasty 
determination never to see her again. 

A woman is more considerate in affairs of love than a man ; 
because love is more the study and business of her life. Annette 
Boon repented of her indiscretion ; she felt that she had used her 
lover unkindly ; she felt that she had trifled Avith his sincere and 
generous nature — and then he looked so handsome when he parted 
after their quarrel — his fine features lighted up by indignation. 
She had intended making up with him at the evening dance ; but 
his sudden departure prevented her. She now promised herself 
that when next they met she would amply repay him by the 
sweets of a pcifect reconciliation, and that, thenceforwiu'd, she 
would never — never tease him more ! That promise was not to 
be fulfilled. Day after day passed ; but Eugene did not make 
his appearance. Sunday evening came, the usual time when all 
the gayety of the village assembled ; but Eugene was not there. 
She inquired after him ; he had left the village. She now became 
alai-med, and, foi'getting all coyness and affected indifference, called 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 331 



on Eugene's mother for an explanation. She found her full of 
affliction, and learnt with surprise and consternation that Eugene 
had gone to sea. 

While his feelings were yet smarting with her affected disdain, 
and his heart a prey to alternate indignation and despair, he had 
suddenly embraced an invitation which had repeatedly been made 
him ijy a relative, who was fitting out a ship from the port of 
Honfieur, and who wished him to be the companion of his voyage. 
Absence appeared to him the only cure for his unlucky passion ; 
and in the temporary transports of his feelings, there was some- 
thing gratifying in the idea of having half the world intervene 
between them. The hurry necessary for his departure left no 
time for cool reflection ; it rendered him deaf to the remonstrances 
of his afflicted mother. He hastened to Honfleur just in time to 
make the needful preparations for the voyage ; and the first news 
that Annette received of this sudden determination was a letter 
delivered by his mother, returning her pledges of affection, par- 
ticularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, and bidding her a 
last farewell, in terms more full of sorrow and tenderness than 
upbraiding. 

This was the first stroke of real anguish that Annette had ever 
received, and it overcame her. The vivacity of her spirits were 
apt to hurry her to extremes ; she for a time gave way to ungo- 
vernable transports of affliction and remorse, and manifested, in 
the violence of her grief, the real ardor of her affection. The 
thought occurred to her that the ship might not yet have sailed ; 
she seized on the hope with eagerness, and hastened with her 
father to Honfleur. The ship had sailed that very morning. 
From the heights above the town she saw it lessening to a speck 
on the broad bosom of the ocean, and before evening the white 



532 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



sail had faded from her sight. She turned full oi anguish to tht 
neighboring chapel of Our Lady of Grace, and throwing herself 
on the pavement, poured out prayers and tears for the safe return 
of her lover. 

When she returned home the cheerfulness of her spirits was 
at an end. She looked back with remorse and self-uporaiding on 
her past caprices ; she turned with distaste from the adulation of 
her admirers, and had no longer any relish for the amusements 
of the village. With humiliation and diffidence she sought the 
widowed mother of Eugene ; but was received by her with an 
overflowing heart ; for she only beheld in Annette one who could 
sympathize in her doting fondness for her son. It seemed some 
alleviation of her remorse to sit by the mother all day, to .''tudy 
her wants, to beguile her heavy hours, to hang about her with the 
caressing endearments of a daughter, and to seek by every means, 
if possible, to supply the place of the son, whom she reproached 
herself with having driven away. 

In the meantime the ship made a prosperous voyage to her 
destined port. Eugene's mother received a letter from him, in 
which he lamented the precipitancy of his departure. The voyage 
had given him time for sober reflection. If Annette had been 
unkind to him, he ought not to have forgotten what was due to 
his mother, who was now advanced in years. He accused him- 
self of selfishness in only listening to the suggestions of his own 
inconsiderate passions. He promised to return with the ship, to 
make his mind up to his disappointment, and to think of nothing 

but making his mother happy "And when he does return," 

said Annette, clasping her hands with transport, "it shall not be 
my fault if he ever leaves us again.*' 

The time approached for the ship's return. She was dailj 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 333 



expected, when the weather became dreadfully tempestuous. Day 
after day brought news of vessels foundered^ or driven on shore, 
and the coast was strewed with wrecks. Intelligence was received 
of the looked-for ship having been seen dismasted in a violent 
Ktorm, and the greatest fears were entertained for her safety. 

Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. She watched 
every change of her countenance with painful solicitude, and en- 
deavored to cheer her with hopes, while her own mind was racked 
by anxiety. She tasked her efforts to be gay ; bnt it was a forced 
and unnatural gayety : a sigh from the mother would completely 
check it ; and when she could no longer restrain the rising tears, 
she would hurry away and pour out her agony in secret. Every 
anxious look, every anxious inquiry of the mother, whenever a 
door opened, or a strange face appeared, was an arrov/ to her 
soul. She considered every disappointment as a pang of her own 
infliction, and her heart sickened under the care-worn expression 
of the maternal eye. At length this suspense became insupport- 
able She left the village and hastened to Honfleur, hoping every 
hour, every moment, to receive some tidings of her lover. She 
paced the pier, and wearied the seamen of the port with her 
inquiries. She made a daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our 
Lady of Grace ; hung votive garlands on the wall, and passed 
hours either kneeling before the altar, or looking out from the 
brow of the hill upon the angry sea. 

At length word was brought that the long-wished-for vessel 
was in sight. She was seen standing into the mouth of the Seine, 
shattered and crippled, bearing marks of having been sadly tem- 
pest-tossed. A general joy was diffused by her return ; and 
there was not a brighter eye, nor a lighter heart, than Annette's 
in the little port of Honfleur. The ship came to anchor in the 



334 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



river ; and a boat put off for the shore. The populace crow(.e< 
down to the pier-head to welcome it. Annette stood blushing, 
and smiling, and trembling, and weeping ; for a thousand pain- 
fully pleasing emotions agitated her breast at the thoughts of the 
meeting and reconciliation about to take place. 

Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone to her gaJlant 
lover for all its errors. At one moment she would place herself 
in a conspicuous situation, where she might catch his view at 
once, and surprise him by her welcome ; but the next moment a 
doubt would come across her mind, and she would shrink among 
the throng, trembling and faint, and gasping Tvith her emotions. 
Her agitation increased as the boat drew near, until it became 
distressing ; and it w^as almost a relief to her when she perceived 
that her lover was not there. She presumed that some accident 
had detained him on board of the ship, and felt that the delay 
would enable her to gather more self-possession for the meeting. 
As the boat n eared the shore, many inquiries were made, and 
laconic answers returned. At length Annette heard some inqui- 
ries after her lover. Her heart palpitated ; there was a moment's 
pause : the reply was brief, but awful. He had been washed, 
from the deck, with two of the crew, in the midst of a stormy 
night, w^hei: it was impossible to render any assistance. A pierc- 
ing shriek broke from among the crowd ; and Annette had nearly 
fallen ii to the waves. 

The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a transient gleam 
of happiness, was too much for her harassed frame. She was 
carried home senseless. Her life was for some time despaired of, 
and it was months before she recovered her health ; but she never 
had perfectly recovered her mind : it still remained unsettled with 
respect to her lover's fate. 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 335 



** The subject/' continued mj informer, " is never mentioned 
/:i her hearing ; but she sometimes speaks of it herself, and it 
f^v^ems as though, there were some vague train of impressions in 
her mind, in which hope and fear are strangely mingled ; some 
imperfect idea of her lover's shipwreck, and yet some expectation 
of his return. 

'^ Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, and to 
banish these gloomy images from her thoughts. They assemble 
round her the young companions in whose society she used to 
delight ; and they will work, and chat, and sing, and laugh, as 
formerly ; but she will sit silently among them, and will some- 
times weep in the midst of their gayety ; and, if spoken to, will 
make no reply, but look up with streaming eyes, and sing a dis- 
mal little song, which she has learned somewhere, about a ship- 
wreck. It makes every one's heart ache to see her in this way, 
for she used to be the happiest creature in the village. 

" She passes the greater part of the time with Eugene's 
mother ; whose only consolation is her society, and who dotes on 
her with a mother's tenderness. She is the only one that has 
■perfect influence over Annette in every mood. The poor girl 
seems, as formerly, to make an effort to be cheerful in her com- 
pany ; but will sometimes gaze upon her with the most piteous 
look, and then kiss her gray hairs, and fall on her neck and weep. 

" She is not always melancholy, however ; there are occasional 
intervals when she will be bright and animated for days together ; 
but a degree of wildness attends these fits of gayety, that pre- 
vents their yielding any satisfaction to her friends. At such 
times she will arrange her room, which is all covered with pic- 
tures of ships and legends of saints ; and will wreath a white 
chaplet, as if for a wedding, and prepare wedding ornaments 



336 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL, 



She will listen anxioaslj at thf door, and k ok frequently out at 
the window, as if expecting some one's arrival. It is supposed 
that at such times she is looking for Ler lover's return ; but, as no 
one touches upon the theme, or mentions his name in her pres- 
ence, the current of her thoughts is mere matter of conjecture. 
Now and then she will make a pilgrimage to the chapel of Notre 
Dame de Grace ; where she wall pray for hours at the altar, and 
decorate the images with wreaths that she has woven ; or will 
wave her handkerchief from the terrace, as you have seen, if 
there is any vessel in the distance." 

Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now elapsed without 
effacing from her mind this singular taint of insanity ; still her 
friends hoped it might gradually wear away. They had at one 
time removed her to a distant part of the country, in hopes that 
absence from the scenes connected with her story, might have a 
salutary effect ; but, ^vhen her periodical melancholy returned, 
she became more restless and w^'etched than usual, and, secretly 
escaping from her friends, set out on foot, without knowing the 
road, on one of her pilgrimages to the chapel. 

This little story entirely drew my attention from the gay scene 
of the fute, and fixed it upon the beautiful Annette. While she 
was yet standing on the terrace the vesper-bell rang from the 
neighboring chapel. She listened for a moment, and then draw- 
ing a small rosary from her bosom, walked in that direction. 
Several of the peasantry followed her in silence ; and I felt too 
much interested not to do the same. 

The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of a grove, on the 
high promontory. The inside is hung round with little models 
of shi])s, and rude paintings of wrecks and perils at sea, and 
providential deliverances ; the votive offerings of captains and 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 337 



crev/s lliat have been saved. On entering, Annette paused for a 
tnoment before a picture of the Virgin, which, I observed, had 
recently been decorated with a wreath of artificial flowers. When 
she reached the middle of the chapel she knelt down, and those 
who followed her involuntarily did the same at a little distance. 
The evening sun shone softly through the checkered grove into 
one window of the chapel. A perfect stillness reigned within ; 
and this stillness was the more impressive, contrasted with the 
distant sound of music and merriment from the fair. I could not 
take my eyes off from the poor suppliant ; her lips moved as she 
told her beads, but her prayers were breathed in silence. It 
might have been mere fancy excited by the scene, that, as she 
raised her eyes to heaven, I thought they had an expression truly 
seraphic. But I am easily affected by female beauty, and there 
was something in this mixture of love, devotion, and partial 
insanity, inexpressibly touching. 

As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet serenity in 
her looks ; and I was told she would return home, and in all 
probability be calm and cheerful for days, and even weeks ; in 
which time it was supposed that hope predominated in her mental 
malady ; and when the dark side of her mind, as her friends call 
it, was about to turn up, it would be known by her neglecting 
her distaff or her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weeping in 
silence. 

She passed on from the chapel without noticing the fete, but 
smiling and speaking to many as she passed. I followed her 
with my eyes as she descended the winding road towards Hun- 
fleur, leaning on her father's arm. " Heaven," thought T, " has 
ever its store of balms for the hurt mind and wounded spirit, and 
may in time rear up this broken flower to be once more the pride 

1.5 



33S BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



and joy of tlie valley. The very delusion in which the poor girl 
walks may be one of those mists kindly diffused by Providence 
over the regions of thought, when they become too fruitful of 
misery. The veil may gradually be raised wdiich obscures the 
horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly to con- 
template the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view." 



On my return from Paris, about a year afterw^ards, I turned 
olT from the beaten route at Kouen, to revisit some of the most 
striking scenes of Lower Normandy. Having passed through 
tlie lovely country of the Pays d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a 
fine afternoon, intending to cross to Havre the next morning, and 
embark for England. As I had no better way of passing the 
evening. I strolled up the hill to enjoy the fine prospect from the 
chapel of Notre Dame de Grace ; and while there, I thought of 
iv!C[uiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. The priest 
who had told me her story Avas officiating at vespers, after which 
I accosted him, and learnt from him the remaining circumstances. 
He told me that from the time I had seen her at the chapel, 
her disorder took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health 
rapidly declined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less 
frequent, and attended with more incoherency. She grew Ian- 
guid, silent, and moody in her melancholy ; her form was wasted, 
her looks were pale and disconsolate, and it was feared she would 
ne'er recover. She became impatient of all sounds of gayety, 
and was never so contented as when Eugene's motlier was ne.'ir 
her. Tlie good woman watched over her with patient, yearning 
solicitude ; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would half for- 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 339 

get her own. Sometimes, as she sat lookmg upon her pallid face, 
the tears would fill her eyes, which when Annette perceived, she 
would anxiously wipe them away, and tell her not to grieve, for 
that Eugene w^ould soon return ; and then she would affect a 
forced gayety, as in former times, and sing a lively air ; but a 
udden recollection would come over her, and she would burst 
into tears, hang on the poor mother's neck, and entreat her not to 
curse her for having destroyed her son. 

Just at this time, to the astonishment of every one, news was 
received of Eugene; who, it appears, w^as still living. When 
almost drowned, he had fortunately seized upon a spar washed 
from the ship's deck. Finding himself nearly exhausted, he fast- 
ened himself to it, and floated for a day and night, until all sense 
left him. On recovering, he found himself on board a velisel 
bound to India, but so ill as not to move without assistance. His 
health continued precarious throughout the voyage ; on arriving 
in India he experienced many vicissitudes, and was transferred 
from ship to ship, and hospital to hospital. His constitution ena- 
bled him to struggle through every hardsliip ; and he was now in 
a distant port, waiting only for the sailing of a ship to return home. 
Great caution was necessary in imparting these tidings to the 
mother, and even then she was nearly overcome by the transports 
of her joy. But how to impart them to Annette was a matter of 
still greater perplexity. Her state of mind had been so morbid ; 
she had been subject to such violent changes, and the cause of her 
derangement had been of such an inconsolable and hopeless kind, 
that her friends had always forborne to tamper with her feelings. 
Thej had never even hinted at the subject of her griefs, nor 
encouraged the theme when she adverted to it, but had passed it 
over in silence, hojung that time would gradually wear the traces 



340 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of it from her recollection, or, at least, would render theni lesa 
painful. They now felt at a loss how to undeceive her even in 
her misery, lest the sudden recurrence of happiness might confirm 
the estrangement of her reason, or might overpower her enfeebled 
frame. They ventured, however, to probe those wounds which 
they formerly did not dare to touch, for they now had the balm 
to pour into them. They led the conversation to those topics 
which they had hitherto shunned, and endeavored to ascertain the 
current of her thoughts in those varying moods which had for- 
merly perplexed them. They found her mind even more affected 
than they had imagined. All her ideas were confused and wan- 
dering. Her bright and cheerful moods, which now grew sel- 
domer than ever, were all the effects of mental delusion. At 
such* times she had no recollection of her lover's having been 
in danger, but was only anticipating his arrival. " When the 
winter has passed away," said she, " and the trees put on their 
blossoms, and the swallow comes back over the sea, he will 
return." When she was drooping and desponding, it was in vain 
to remind her of what she had said in her gayer moments, and 
to assure her that Eugene would indeed return shortly. She 
wept on in silence, and appeared insensible to their words. But 
at times her agitation became violent, when she Avould upbraid 
herself with having driven Eugene from his mother, and brought 
sorrow on her gray hairs. Her mind admitted but one leading 
idea at a time, which nothing could divert or efface ; or if they 
ever succeeded in interrupting the current of her fancy, it only 
became the more incoherent, and increased the feverishness that 
preyed upon botli mind and body. Her friends felt more alarm 
for hi'v than ever, for they feared her senses were irrecoverably 
Kone, and her constitution completely undermined. 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 341 



In the meantime Eugene returned to the village. He was 
violently aiFected when the story of Annette was told him. With 
bitterness of heart he upbraided his own rashness and infatuation 
that had hurried him away from her, and accused himself as the 
author of all her woes. His mother would describe to him al] 
the anguish and remorse of poor Annette ; the tenderness with 
which she clung to her, and endeavored, even in the midst of her 
insanity, to console her for the loss of her son ; and the touching 
expressions of affection mingled with her most incoherent wan- 
derings of thought, until his feelings would be wound up to agony, 
and he would entreat her to desist from the recital. They did 
not dare as yet to bring him into Annette's sight; but he was 
permitted to see her when she was sleeping. The tears streamed 
down his sun-burnt cheeks as he contemplated the ravages which 
grief and malady had made ; and his heart swelled almost to 
breaking as he beheld round her neck the very braid of hair 
which she once gave him in token of girlish affection, and which 
he had returned to her in anger. 

At length the physician that attended her determined to 
adventure upon an experiment ; to take advantage of one of those 
cheerful moods when her mind was visited by hope, and to en- 
deavor to engraft, as it were, the reality upon the delusions of 
her fancy. These moods had now become very rare, for nature 
wajb sinking under the continual pressure of her mental malady, 
and the principle of reaction was daily growing weaker. Every 
effort was tried to bring on a cheerful interval of the kind. Several 
of her most favorite companions were kept continually about her ; 
they chatted gayly, they laughed, and sang, and danced ; but An- 
nette reclined with languid frame and hollow eye, and took no part 
in their gayety. At length the winter was gone ; the trees put 



342 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



forth tlieir leaves ; the swallows began to build in the eaves of t'le 
house, and the robin and wren piped all day beneath the window. 
Annette's spirits gradually revived. She began to deck her per- 
son with unusual care ; and bringing forth a basket of artificial 
flowers, v^^ent to work to wreath a bridal chaplet of white roses. 
Her companions asked her why she prepared the chaplet. 
" What !" said she with a smile, " have you not noticed the trees 
putting on their wedding-dresses of blossoms ? Has not tne swal- 
low flown back over the sea ? Do you not know that the time is 
come for Eugene to return ? that he ^vill be home to-morrow, and 
that on Sunday we are to be married?" 

Her words were repeated to the physician, and lie seized on 
them at once. He directed that her idea should be encouraged 
and acted upon. Her words were echoed through the house. 
Every one talked of the return of Eugene as a matter of course ; 
they congratulated her upon her approaching happiness, and as- 
sisted her in her preparations. The next morning the same theme 
was resumed. She was dressed out to receive her lover. Every 
bosom fluttered with anxiety. A cabriolet drove into the village. 
" Eugene is coming !" was the cry. She saw him alight at the 
door, and rushed with a shriek into his arms. 

Her friends trembled for the result of this critical experiment ; 
but she did not sink under it, for her fancy had prepared her for 
his return. She was as one in a dream, to whom a tide of un 
looked-for prosperity, that would have overwhelmed his waking 
reason, seems f^ut the natural current of circumstances. Her 
conversation, h^^wever, showed that her senses were wandering. 
There was an Vvbsolute forgetfulness of all past sorrow ; a wild 
and feverish g' fety that at times was incoherent. 

The next orning she awoke languid and exhausted. All the 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 34S 



occurrences of the preceding day had passed away from her raind 
as though they had been the mere illusions of her fancy. She 
rose melancholy and abstracted, and as she dressed herself, was 
heard to sing one j^f lier plaintive ballads. When she entered 
the parlor her eyes were swollen with weeping. She heard 
Eugene's voice without and started ; passed her hand across her 
forehead, and stood musing, like one endeavoring to recall a dream, 
Eugene entered the room, and advanced towards her ; she looked 
at him with an eager, searching look, murmured some indistinct 
words, and, before he could reach her, sank upon the floor. 

She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of mind; but now 
that the first shock was over, the physician ordered that Eugene 
should keep continually in her sight. Sometimes she did not 
know hira ; at other times she would talk to him as if he were 
going to sea, and would implore him not to part from her in an- 
ger ; and when he was not present, she would speak of him as if 
buried in the ocean, and would sit, with clasped hands, looking 
upon the ground, the picture of despair. 

As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her frame re- 
covered from the shock it had received, she became more placid 
and coherent. Eugene kept almost continually near her. He 
formed the real object round which her scattered ideas once more 
gathered, and which linked them once more with the realities of 
life. But her changeful disorder now appeared to take a new 
turn. She became languid and inert, and would sit for hours 
silent, and almost in a state of lethargy. If roused from this 
stupor, it seemed as if her mind would make some attempt to 
follow up a train of thought, but would soon become confused. 
She would regard every one that approached her with an anxious 
and inquiring eye, that seemed continually to disappoint itself. 



344 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Sometimes, as her lover sat holding her hand, she would look pen 
sively in his face without saying a word, until his heart was over 
come ; and after these transient fits of intellectual exertion, ^le 
would sink again into lethargy. 

By degrees this stupor increased ; her mind appeared to have 
subsided into a stagnant and almost deathlike calm. For the 
greater part of the time her eyes were closed-; her face was 
almost as fixed and passionless as that of a corpse. She no longer 
took any notice of surrounding objects. There was an awfulness 
in this tranquillity that filled her friends with apprehensions. 
The physician ordered that she should be kept perfectly quiet ; or 
that, if she evinced any agitation, she should be gently lulled, like 
a child, by some favorite tune^ 

She remained in this state for hours, hardly seeming to breathe, 
and apparently sinking into the sleep of death. Her chamber 
was profoundly still. The attendants moved about it with noise- 
less tread ; every thing was communicated by signs and whispers. 
Her lover sat by her side watching her with painful anxiety, and 
fearing every breath which stole from her pale lips would be the 
last. 

At length she heaved a deep sigh ; and from some convulsive 
motions, appeared to be troubled in her sleep. Her agitation in- 
creased, accompanied by an indistinct moaning. One of her com- 
panions, remembering the physician's instructions, endeavored to 
lull her by singing, in a low voice, a tender little air, which was a 
particular favorite of Annette's. Probably it had some connec- 
tion in her mind with her own story ; for every fond girl has some 
ditty of the kind, linked in her thoughts with sweet and sad 
remembrances. 

As she sang, the agitation of Annette subsided. A streak of 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 345 



faint color came into her cheeks ; her eyelids became swollen with 
rising tears, which trembled there for a moment, and then, steal- 
mg forth, coursed down her pallid cheek. When the song was 
ended, she opened her eyes and looked about her, as one awaking 
in a. strange place. 

" Oh, Eugene ! Eugene !" said she, " it seems as if I have 
nad a long and dismal dream : what has happened, and what has 
been the matter with me ?" 

The questions were embarrassing ; and before they couhl be 
answered, the physician, who was in the next room, entered. She 
took him by the hand, looked up in his face, and made the same 
inquiry. He endeavored to put her oil with some evasive an- 
swer ; — " No, no !" cried she, " I know I have been ill, and I have 
been dreaming strangely. I thought Eugene had left us — and 
that he had gone to sea — and that — and that he was drowned ! — • 
But he has been to sea !" added she earnestly, as recollection kept 
flashing upon her, '' and he has been wrecked — and we were all 
so wretched — and he came home again one bright morning — and 
— Oh !" said she, pressing her hand against her forehead with a 
sickly smile, " I see how it is ; all has not been right here. I begin 
to recollect — but it is all passed now — Eugene is here ! and his 
mother is happy — and we will never — never part again — -shall 
we, Eugene ?" 

She sunk back in her chi 'r exhausted ; the tears streamed 
down her cheeks. Her companions hovered round her^ not 
knowing what to make of this sudden dawn of reason. Her lover 
sobbed aloud. She opened her eyes again, and looked upon them 
with an air of the sweetest acknowledgment. " You are all so 
good to me !" said she, faintly. 

The physician drew the father aside. " Your daughter's 

15* 



346 BRACJEBRIDGE HALLr 



mind is restored," said he ; " she is sensible that she has been de- 
ranged ; she is growing conscious of the past, and conscious of 
the present. All that now remains is to keep her calm and quiet 
until her health is re-established, and then let her be married, in 
God's name !" 

" The -svedding took place," continued the good priest, " but a 
short time since ; they were here at the last fete during their 
honey-moon, and a handsomer and happier couple was not to be 
seen as they danced under yonder trees. The young man, his 
wife, and mother, now^ live on a fine farm at Pont L'Eveque ; and 
that model of a ship w^hich you see yonder, wdth white flowers 
wreathed round it, is Annette's offering of thanks to our Lady of 
Grace, for having listened to her prayers, and protected her lover 
in the hour of peril." 



The captain having finished, there was a momentary silence. 
The tender-hearted Lady Lilly craft, who knew the story by 
heart, had led the way in weeping, and indeed often began to 
si ed tears before they came to the right place. 

The fair Julia was a little flurried at the passage where wed- 
ding preparations were mentioned ; but the auditor most affected 
was the simple Phoebe Wilkins. She had gradually dropt her 
work in her lap, and sat sobbing through the latter part of the 
story, until towards the end, w^hen the happy reverse had nearly 
produced another scene of hysterics. " Go, take this case to my 
room again, child," said Lady Lillycraft kindly, "and don't cry so 
much." 

" I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help it ; — ^but Fm 
glad they made all up again, and were married !" 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 347 



By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel begins to make 
some talk in the household, especially among certain little ladies, 
not far in their teens, of whom she has made confidants. She is 
a great favorite with them all, but particularly so since she has 
confided to them her love secrets. They enter into her concerns 
with all the violent zeal and overwhelming sympathy with which 
little boarding-school ladies engage in the politics of a love affair. 

I have noticed them frequently clustering about her in private 
conferences, or walking up and down the garden terrace i.Jider 
my window, listening to some long and dolorous story of her 
afflictions ; of which I could now and then distinguish the ever- 
recurring phrases " says he," and " says she." 

I accidentally interrupted one of these little councils of war, 
when they were all huddled together under a tree, and seemed to 
be earnestly considering some interesting document. The flutter 
at my approach showed that there were some secrets under dis- 
cussion ; and I observed the disconsolate Phoebe crumpling into 
her bosom either a love-letter or an old valentine, and brushing 
away the tears from her cheeks. 

The girl is a good girl, of a soft, melting nature, and shows her 
concern at the cruelty of her lover only in tears and drooping 
looks ; but with the little ladies who have espoused her cause, it 
sparkles up into fiery indignation : and I have noticed on Sunday 
many a glance darted at the pew of the Tibbets's, enough even to 
melt down the silver buttons on old Ready-Money's jacket. 



A 



TRAYELING. 

A citizen, for recreation sake, 

To see the country would a journey take 

Some dozen mile, or very little more ; 

Taking his leave vi'ith friends two months before 

With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand, 

As he had travail'd to some new-found land. 

Doctor Merrie Man. iGOiJ, 

The Squire has lately received another shock in the saddle, and 
been almost unsealed by his marplot neighbor, the indefatigable 
Mr; Faddy, who rides his jog-trot hobby with equal zeal ; and is 
so bent upon improving and reforming the neighborhood, that the 
Squire thinks, in a little while, it will be scarce worth living in. 
The enormity that has thus discomposed my worthy host, is an 
attempt of the manufacturer to have a line of coaches established, 
that shall diverge from the old route, and pass through the neigh- 
borino; villapre. 

I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situated in a 
retired part of the country, at a distance from any great coach 
road ; insomuch that the arrival of a traveler is apt to make every 
one look out of the window, and to cause some talk among the 
ale-drinkers at the little inn. I was at a loss, therefore, to 
account for the Squire's indignation at a measure apparently 
fraught with convenience and advantage, until I found that tht' 
conveniences of traveling were among his greatest grievances. 



350 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post-chaises, and turn- 
pike roads, as serious causes of the corruption of English rural 
manners. They have given facilities, he says, to every hum- 
drum citizen to trundle his family about the kingdom, and have 
sent the follies and fashions of town whirling, in coach-loads, to 
the remotest parts of the island. The whole country, he says, is 
traversed by these flying cargoes ; every by-road is explored by 
enterprising tourists from Cheapside and the Poultry, and every 
gentleman's park and lawns invaded by cockney sketchers of both 
sexes, with portable chairs and portfolios for drawing. 

He laments over this as destroying the charm of privacy, and 
interrupting the quiet of country life ; but more especially as 
affecting the simplicity of the peasantry, and filling their heads 
with half-city notions. A great coach inn, he says, is enough to 
ruin the manners of a whole village. It creates a horde of sots 
and idlers ; makes gapers and gazers and newsmongers of the 
common people, and knowing jockeys of the country bumpkins. 

The Squire has something of the old feudal feeling. He 
looks back with regret to the " good old times," when journeys 
were only made on horseback, and the extraordinary difficulties 
of traveling, owing to bad roads, bad accommodations, and high- 
way robbers, seemed to separate each village and hauilet from 
the rest of the world. The lord of the manor was then a kind of 
monarch in the little realm around him. He held his court in 
liis paternal hall, and was looked up to with almost as much loy- 
alty and deference as the king himself. Every neighborhood was 
a little world within itself, having its local manners and customs, 
its local history and local opinions. The inhabitants were fonder 
of their homes, and thought less of wandering. It was looked 
upon as an expedition to travel out of sight of the parish steeple ; 



TRAVELING. 35l 



and a man that had been to London was a village oracle for the 
rest of his life. 

What a difference between the mode of traveling in those 
days and at present ! At that time, when a gentleman went on 
a distant visit, he sallied forth like a knight-errant on an enter- 
prise, and every family excursion was a pageant. How splendid 
and fanciful must one of those domestic cavalcades have been, 
where the beautiful dames were mounted on palfreys magnifi- 
cently caparisoned, with embroidered harness, all tinkling with 
silver bells ; attended by cavaliers richly attired on prancing 
steeds, and followed by pages and serving-men, as w^e see them 
represented in old tapestry. The gentry, as they traveled about 
in those days, w^ere like moving pictures. They delighted the 
eyes and awakened the admiration of the common people, and 
passed before them like superior beings ; and indeed they were 
so ; there was a hardy and healthful exercise connected with this 
equestrian style, that made' them generous and noble. 

In his fondness for the old style of traveling, the Squire 
makes most of his journeys on horseback, though he laments the 
modern deficiency of incident on the road, from the want of fel- 
low-wayfarers, and the rapidity with which every one else is 
whirled along in coaches and post-chaises. In the " good old 
times," on the contrary, a cavalier jogged on through bog and 
mire, from town to town, and hamlet to hamlet, conversing with 
friars and franklens, and all other chance companions of the 
road .; beguiling the way w^ith travelers' tales, which then were 
ti'uly wonderful, for every tiling beyond one's neighborhood was 
full of marvel and romance; stopping at night at some "hostel," 
where the bush over the door proclaimed good wine, or a pretty 
hostess made bad wine palatable ; meeting at supper with travel 



352 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



ers, or listening to the song or merry story of the host, who was 
generally a boon companion, and presided at his own board ; for, 
according to old Tusser's " Innholder's Poesie," 

'* At meales my friend who vitleth here 
And sitteth with his host, 
Shall both be sure of better cheere. 
And 'scape with lesser cost." 

The Squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns which may 
be met wdth, here and there, in ancient houses of wood and plas- 
ter, or calimanco houses, as they are called by antiquaries, with 
deep porches, diamond-paned bow-Avindows, paneled rooms, and 
great fireplaces. He will prefer them to more spacious and mod- 
ern inns, and would cheerfully put up wuth bad cheer and bad 
accommodations in the gratification of his humor. They give 
him, he says, the feeling of old times, insomuch that he almost 
expects, in the dusk of the evening, to see some party of weary 
travelers ride up to the door, with plumes and mantles, trruk- 
hose, w^de boots, and long rapiers. 

The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a visit I once 
paid to the Tabard Inn, famous for being the place of assemblage 
whence Chaucer's pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the 
borough of Southwark, not far from London Bridge, and bears, at 
present the name of "the Talbot." It has sadly declined in 
dignity since the days of Chaucer, being a mere rendezvous and 
packing-place of the great wagons that travel into Kent. The 
court-yard, which was anciently the mustering-place of the pil- 
grims previous to their departure, was now lumbered with huge 
wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets, containing the 
good tilings of town and country, were piled about them ; while. 



TRAVELING. 35S 



among the straw and litter, the motherly hens scratched and 
clucked, with their hungry broods at their heels. Instead of 
Chaucer's motley and splendid throng, I only saw a group of 
wagoners and stable-boys enjoying a circulating pot of ale ; while 
a long-bodied dog sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, 
and wistful gaze, as if waiting for his turn at the tankard. 

Notwithstanding this grievous declension, however, I was 
gratified at perceiving that the present occupants were not un- 
conscious of the poetical renown of their mansion. An inscription 
over the gateway proclaimed it to be the inn where Chaucer's 
pilgrims slept on the night previous to their departure, and at the 
bottom of the yard was a mv^gnificent sign, representing them in 
the act of sallying forth. I was pleased, too, at noticing, that 
though the present inn was comparatively modern, the form of 
the old inn was preserved. There were galleries round the yard, 
as in old times, on which opened the chambers of the guests. To 
these ancient inns have antiquaries ascribed the present forms of 
our theatres. Plays were originally acted in the inn-yards. The 
guests lolled over the galleries, which answered to our modern 
dress-circle ; the critical mob clustered in the yard instead of the 
pit ; and the groups gazing from the garret windows, were no bad 
representatives of the gods of the shilling gallery. When, there- 
fore, the drama grew important enough to have a house of its 
own, the architects took a hint for its construction from the yard 
of the ancient " hostel." 

I was so well pleased at finding these remembrances of Chau- 
cer and his poem, that I ordered my dinner in the little parlor of 
the Talbot. Whilst it was preparing, I sat at the window, musing 
and gazing into the court-yard, and conjuring up recollections of 
the scenes depicted in such lively colors by the poet, until, by 



354 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, 



degrees, boxes, bales, and hampers, boys, wagoners, and dogs, 
faded from sight, and my fancy peopled the place with the motley 
throng of Canterbury pilgrims. The galleries once more swarmed 
with idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chaucer's time, and the 
whole cavalcade seemed to pass before me. There was the 
stately knight on sober steed, who had ridden in Christendom 
and heathenesse, and had "foughten for our faith at Tramis- 
sene ;" — and his son, the young squire, a lover, and a lusty 
bachelor, with curled locks and gay embroidery ; a bold rider, a 
dancer, and a writer of verses, singing and fluting all day long, 
and 'afresh as the month of May;" — and hfs "knot-headed" 
yeoman ; a bold forester, in green, with horn, and baudrick, and 
dagger; a mighty bow in hand, and a sheaf of peacock arrows 
shining beneath his belt; — and the coy, smiling, simple nun, with 
her gray eyes, her small red mouth and fair forehead, her dainty 
person clad in featly cloak and " 'ypinched wimple," her coral 
beads about her arm, her golden brooch with a love motto, and 
her pretty oath " by Saint Eloy ;" — and the merchant, solemn in 
speech and high on horse, with forked beard and " Fiaundrish 
bever hat ;" — and the lusty monk, " full fat and in good point," 
with berry brown palfrey, his hood fastened with gold pin, 
wrought with a love-knot, his bald head shining like glass, and 
his face glistening as though it had been anointed ; and the lean, 
logical, sententious clerke of Oxenforde, upon his half-starved, 
scholar-like horse ; — and the bowsing sompnour, ^ with fiery- 
cherub face, all knobbed with pimples, an eater of garlic and 
onions, and drinker of " strong wine, red as blood," that carried a 
cake for a buckler, and babbled Latin in his cups; of whose 
brimstone visage "children were sore aferd;" — and the buxom 
wife of Bath, the widow of five husbands, upon her ambling nag. 



TRAVELING. 355 



with lier hat broad as a buckler, her red stockings and sharp 
spurs ; — and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, bestriding his 
good gray stot ; with close-shaven beard, his hair cropped round 
his ears ; long, lean, calfless legs, and a rusty blade by his side, — 
and the jolly Limitour, with lisping tongue and twinkling ej^e, 
well beloved of franklens and housewives, a great promoter of 
marriages among young women, known at the taverns in every 
lown, and by every "hosteler and gay taps-tere." In short, be- 
fore I was roused from my revery by the less poetical, but more 
substantial apparition of a smoking beef-steak, I had seen the 
whole cavalcade issue forth from the hostel-gate, with the brawny, 
double-jointed, red-haired miller, playing the bagpipes before 
them, and the ancient host of the Tabard giving them his fare- 
v\^ell God-send to Canterbury. 

When I told the Squire of the existence of this legitimate 
descendant of the ancient Tabard Inn, his eyes absolutely glis- 
tened with delight. He determined to hunt it up the very first 
time he visited London, and to eat a dinner there, and drink a 
cup of mine host's best wine, in memory of old Chaucer. The 
general, who happened to be present, immediately begged to be 
of the party, for he liked to encourage these long-established 
houses, as they are apt to have choice old wines. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell rewards and fairies, 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now fowle sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no lesse 

Than maids were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleanlinesse 

Finds sixpence in her shooe ? 

Bishop Corbet. 

I HAVE mentioned the Squire's fondness for the marvelous, and 
his predilection for legends and romances. His library contains 
a curious collection of old works of this kind, which bear evi- 
dent marks of having been much read. In his great love for all 
that is antiquated, he cherishes popular superstitions, and listens, 
with very grave attention, to every tale, however strange ; so 
that, through his countenance, the household, and, indeed, the 
whole neighborhood, is well stocked with wonderful stories ; and 
if evei a doubt is expressed of any one of them, the narrator 
will generally observe, that " the Squire thinks there's some- 
thing in it." 

The Hall of course comes in for its share, the common people 
liaving always a propensity to furnish a great superannuated build- 
ing of the kind with supernatural inhabitants. The gloomy gal- 
leries of such old family mansions ; the stately chambers, adorned 



.^58 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



with grotesque carvings and faded paintings ; the sounds that 
vaguely echo about them ; the moaning of the v/ind ; the cries 
of rooks and ravens from the trees and chimney-tops ; all produce 
a state of mind favorable to superstitious fancies. 

In one chamber of the Hall, just opposite a door which opens 
upon a dusky passage, there is a full length portrait of a warrior 
in armor ; when, on suddenly turning into the passage, I have 
caught a sight of the portrait, thrown into strong relief by the 
dark paneling against which it hangs, I have more than once 
been startled, as though it were a figure advancing towards me. 

To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed by the strange 
and melancholy stories connected with family paintings, it needs 
but little stretch of fancy, on a moonlight night, or by the flicker- 
ing light of a candle, to set the old pictures on the walls in mo- 
tion, sweeping in their robes and trains about the galleries. 

The Squire confesses that he used to take a pleasure in his 
younger days in setting marvelous stories afloat, and connecting 
them with the lonely and peculiar places of the neigliborhood. 
Whenever he read any legend of a striking nature, he endeavored 
to ti-ansplant it, and give it a local habitation among the scenes 
of his boyhood. Many of these stories took root, and he says he 
is often amused with the odd shapes in which they come back to 
him in some old woman's narrative, after they have been circu- 
kiting for years among the peasantry, and undergoing rustic addi- 
tions and amendments. Among these may doubtless be numbered 
tliat of the crusader's ghost, which I have mentioned in the ac- 
'•oimt of my Christmas visit ; and another about the hard-riding 
^ f'lii-e of yore, tlie family Nimrod, who is sometimes heard on 
slonny winter niglits, galloping, with hound and horn, over a wild 
inoov a few miles distant from the Hall. This I apprehend to 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 359 



have had its origin in the famous story of the wild hantsman, the 
favorite goblin in German tales ; though, bj the by, as I was talk- 
ing on the subject with Master Simon the other evening in the 
daj'k avenue, he hinted that he had himself once or twice heard 
odd sounds at night, very like a pack of hounds in cry ; and that 
once, as he was returning rather late from a hunting dinner, he 
had seen a strange iigure galloping along this same moor ; but as 
he was riding rather fast at the time, and in a hurry to gei home, 
he did not stop to ascertain what it w^as. 

Popular superstitions are fast fading away in England, owing 
to the general diffusion of knowledge, and the bustling intercourse 
kept up throughout the country : still they have their strong-holds 
g.ad lingering places, and a retired neighborhood like this is apt 
to be one of them. The parson tells me that he meets with many 
traditional beliefs and notions among the common people, Avhich 
he has been able to draw from them in the course of familiar con- 
versation, though they are rather shy of avowing them to stran- 
gers, and particularly to " the gentry," who are apt to laugh at 
them. He says there are several of his old parishioners who 
remember when the village had its bar-guest, or bar-ghost ; a 
spirit supposed to belong to a town or village, and to predict any 
impending misfortune by midnight shrieks and wailings. The 
last time it was heard was just before the death of Mr. Brace- 
bridge's father, who was much beloved throughout the neighbor- 
hood ; though there are not wanting some obstinate unbelievers, 
wlio insisted that it was nothing but the howling of a watch-dog 
1 have been greatly delighted, however, at meeting witli some 
traces of my old favorite, Ilobin Goodfellow, though under a dif- 
ferent appellation from any of those by whicli I have hereto- 
fore heard liim called. The parson assures me that many of 



.360 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



the peasantry believe in household goblins, called Dobbies, which 
live about particular farms and houses, in the same way that 
Robin GoodPellow did of old. Sometimes they haunt the barns 
and outhouses, and now and then will assist the farmer wonder- 
fully, by getting in all his hay or corn in a single night. In g^n 
era], however, they prefer to live w^ithin doors, and are fond of 
keeping about the great hearths, and basking at night, after the 
family have gone to bed, by the glowing embers. When put in 
particular good humor by the warmth of their lodgings, and the 
tidiness of the housemaids, they will overcome their natural lazi- 
ness, and do a vast deal of household work before morning ; 
churning the cream, brewing the beer, or spinning all the good 
dame's flax. All this is precisely the conduct of Robin Good- 
fellow, described so charmingly by Milton : 

" Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 
His shadowy flail had threshed the corn 
That ten day laborers could not end ; 
Then lays him down the lubber-fiend, 
And stretch'd out all tht- chimney's length 
Basks nt the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-fiill, out of door he flings 
Ere the first cock his matin rings." 

But beside these household Dobbies, there are others of a 
more gloomy and unsocial nature, which keep about lonely barns, 
at a distance from any dwelhng-house, or about ruins and old 
bridges. These are full of mischievous, and otten malignant 
tricks, nnd ai-e fond of playing pranks upon benighted travelers. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 361 -^ 



There is a storj, among the old people, of one which haunted a 
ruined mill, just by a bridge that crosses a small stream ; how 
that late one night, as a traveler w^as passing on horseback, the 
goblin jumped up behind him, and grasped him so close round 
the body that he had no power to help himself, but expected to be 
squeezed to death: luckily his heels were loose, with which he 
plied the sides of his steed, and was carried, with the wonderful 
instinct of a traveler's horse, straight to the village inn. Had 
the inn been at any greater distance, there is no doubt but he 
would have been strangled to death ; as it was, the good people 
were a long time in bringing him to his senses, and it was re- 
marked that the first sign he ' showed of returning consciousness 
was to call for a bottom of brandy. 

These mischievous Dobbies bear much resemblance in their 
natures and habits to the sprites which Heywood, in his Heirar* 
chie, calls pugs or hobgoblins : 



• Their dwellings be 



In corners of old houses least frequented. 
Or beneath stacks of wood, a'nd these convented. 
Make fearfull noise in butteries and in dairies ; 
Robin Goodfellow some, some call them fairies. 
In solitarie rooms these uprores keep, 
And beate at docres, to wake men from their slepe. 
Seeming to force lockes, be they nere so strong. 
And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. 
Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes, and kettles 
They will make dance about the shelves and settles. 
As if about the kitchen tost and cast, 
Yet in the morning nothing found misplac't. 
Others such houses to their use have fitted 
In which base murthers have been once committed. 
16 



362 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Some have their fearful habitations taken 

Li desolate houses, ruin'd and forsaken." • 

In the account of our unfortunate hawking expedition, I men 
tioned an instance of one of these sprites supposed to haunt the 
ruined grange that stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remark- 
able echo. The parson informs me, also, of a belief once very 
prevalent, that a household Dobbie kept about the old farmhouse 
of the Tibbets's. It has long been traditional, he says, that one of 
these good-natured goblins is attached to the Tibbets family, and 
came with them when they moved into these part of the country ; 
for it is one of the peculiarities of these household sprites, that 
they attach themselves to the fortunes of certain families, and 
follow them in all their removals. 

There is a large old-fashioned fireplace in the farmhouse, 
which affords fine quarters for a chimney-corner sprite that likes 
to lie warm ; especially as Ready-Money Jack keeps up rousing 
fires in the winter time. The old people of the village recollect 
many stories about this goblin, current in their young days. It 
was thought to have brought good luck to the house, and to be 
the reason why the Tibbets's were always beforehand in the world; 
and why their farm was always in better order, their hay got ip 
sooner, and their corn better stacked, than that of their neighbors. 
The present Mrs. Tibbets, at the time of her courtship, had a 
number of these stories told her by the country gossips ; and 
when married, was a little fearful about living in a house where 
such a hobgoblin was said to haunt : Jack, however, who has 
always treated this story with great contempt, assured her that 
tliere was no spirit kept about his house tliat he could not e.\ any 
time lay in the Red Sea with one flourish of his cudgel. S^-^'^l 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 363 



his wife has never got completely over lier notions on the subject ; 
but ifas a horseshoe nailed on the threshold, and keeps a branch 
of rauntrj^, or mountain-ash, with its red berries, suspended from 
one of the great beams in the parlor — -a sure protection from all 
evil spirits. 

These stories, as I before observed, are fast fading away, and 
in another generation or two will probably be completely forgot- 
ten. There is something, however, about these rural superstitions 
extremely pleasing to the imagination ; particularly those which 
relate to the good-humored race of household demons, and indeed 
to the whole fairy mythology. The English have given an inex- 
pressible charm to these superstitions, by the manner in which 
they have associated them with whatever is most homefelt and 
delightful in nature. I do not know a more fascinating race of 
beings than these little fabled people who haunted the southern 
sides of hills and mountains ; lurked in flowers and about foun- 
tain-heads ; glided through keyholes into ancient halls ; watched 
over farmhouses and dairies ; danced on the green by summer 
moonlight, and on the kitchen hearth in winter. They accord 
with the nature of English housekeeping and English scenery. 
I always have them in mind when I see a fine old English man- 
sion, with its wide hall and spacious kitchen ; or a venerable 
farmhouse, in which there is so much fireside comfort and good 
housewifery. There was something of national character in their 
love of order and cleanliness ; in the vigilance with which they 
watched over the economy of the kitchen, and the functions of 
the servants ; munificently rewarding, with silver sixpence in 
shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their direful wrath, in mid- 
night bobs and pinches, upon the sluttish dairymaid. I think I 
oan trace the good effects of this ancient fairy sway over house- 



S64 BRACEBPdDGE HALL, 



hold concerns, in the care that prevails to the present day among 
English housemaids, to pat their kitchens in order before they go 
to bed. 

I have said that these fairy superstitions accord with the na- 
ture of English scenery. They suit these small landscapes, which 
are divided by honeysuckle hedges into sheltered fields and mea- 
dows ; where the grass is mingled w^ith daisies, butter-cups, and 
hare-bells. When I first found myself among English scenery, 
I was continually reminded of the sweet pastoral images w^hich 
distinguish their fairy mythology ; and when for the first time a 
circle in the grass was pointed out to me as one of the rings where 
they were formerly supposed to have held their moonlight revels, 
it seemed for a moment as if fairy -land were no longer a fable. 
Brown, in his Britannia's Pastorals, gives a picture of the kind 
of scenery to which I allude : 



A pleasant mead 



Where fairies often did their measures tread ; 
Which in the meadows make such circles green 
As if with garlands it had crowned been. 
Within one of these rounds was to be seen 
A hillock rise, where oft the fairy queen 
At twilight sat." 

And there is another picture of the same, in a poem ascribed to 
Ben Jonson : 



* By wells and rills in meadows green, 

We nightly dance our hey-day guise. 
And to our fairy king and queen 

We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. 




POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 365 



Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British poets, with that 
true feeling for nature which distinguishes them, have closely 
auhered to the simple and familiar imagery which they found in 
these popular superstitions ; and have thus given to their fairy 
mythology those continual allusions to the farmhouse and the 
dairy, the green meadow and the fountain-head, which fill our 
minds with the delightful associations of rural life. It is curious 
to observe how the most beautiful fictions have their origin among 
the rude and ignorant. There is an indescribable charm about 
the illusions with which chimerical ignorance once clothed every 
subject. These twilight views of nature are often more captiva- 
ting than any which are revealed by the rays of enlightened phi- 
losophy. The most accomplished and poetical minds, therefore, 
have been fain to search back into the accidental conceptions of 
what are termed barbarous ages, and to draw from them their 
finest imagery and machinery. If we look through our most 
admired poets, we shall find that their minds have been impreg- 
nated by these popular fancies, and that those have succeeded 
best who have adhered closest to the simplicity of their rustic 
originals. Such is the case with Shakspeare in his Midsummer- 
Night's Dream, which so minutely describes the employments 
and amusements of fairies, and embodies all the notions concern- 
ing them which were current among the vulgar. It is thus that 
poetry in England has echoed back every rustic note, softened 
into perfect melody ; it is thus that it has spread its charms over 
every-day life, displacing nothing ; taking things as it found tliem ; 
but tinting them up with its own magical hues, until every green 
hill and fountain-head, every fresh meadow, nay, every humble 
flower, is full of song and story. 

I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a threadbare subject; 



366 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



yet it brings up with it a thousand delicious recollections of those 
happy days of childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I have 
since obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, and when a 
fairy tale was true history to me. I have often been so trans- 
ported by the pleasure of these recollections, as almost to wish I 
had been born in the days when the fictions of poetry were be- 
lieved. Even now I cannot look upon those fanciful creations of 
ignorance and credulity, without a lurking regret that they have 
all passed away. The experience of my early days tells r..e, they 
were sources of exquisite delight ; and I sometimes question 
whether the naturalist who can dissect the flowers of the field, re- 
ceives half the pleasure from contemplating them, that he did 
who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel con- 
vinced that the true interests and solid happiness of man are pro- 
moted by the advancement of truth ; yet I cannot but mourn over 
the pleasant errors which it has trampled down in its progress. 
The fauns and sylphs, the household sprite, the moonlight revel, 
Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, all 
vanish before the light of true philosophy ; but who does not 
sometimes turn with distaste from the cold reahties of morning, 
and seek to ret^all the sweet visions of the night? 



THE CULPRIT. 

From fire, from Wutter, and all things amiss, 
Deliver the house of an honest justice. 

The Widow 

The serenity of the Hall has been suddenly interrupted by a very 
important occurrence. In the course of this morning a posse of 
villagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting in 
advance. As it drew near, w^e perceived Keady-Money Jack 
Tibbets striding along, wielding his cudgel in one hand, and with 
the other grasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer 
approach, we recognized for the redoubtable gipsy hero. Starlight 
Tom. He was now, however, completely cowed and crest-fallen. 
and his courage seemed to have quailed in the iron gripe of the 
lion-hearted Jack. 

The whole gang of gipsy women and children came draggling 
in the rear ; some in tears, others making a violent clamor about 
the ears of old Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence 
with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a hawk that has 
pounced upon a barn-door hero regards the outcries and cacklings 
of his whole feathered seraglio. 

He had passed through the village on his way to the Hall, and 
of course had made a great sensation in th-at most excitable place, 
where every event is a matter of gaze and gossip. The report 
flew like wildfire, that Starlight Tom was in custody. The ale- 



368 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



drinkers forthwith abandoned the tap-room; Slingsby's school 
broke loose, and master and boys swelled the tide that came roll- 
ing at the heels of old Ready- Money and his captive. 

The uproar increased as they approached the Hall ; it aroused 
the whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of hangers-on. The 
great mastiff barked from the dog-house ; the staghound and the 
greyhound, and the spaniel issued barking from the hall-door, and 
my Lady Lilly craft's little dogs ramped and barked from the par- 
lor window. I remarked, however, that the gipsy dogs made no 
reply to all these menaces and msults, but crept close to the gang, 
looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glanc- 
ing up a dubious eye to their owners ; which shows that the moral 
dignity, even of dogs, may be ruined by bad company 1 

When the throng reached the front of the house, they Avere 
brought to a halt by a kind of advanced guard, composed of old 
Christy, the gamekeeper, and two or three servants of the house, 
who had been brought out by the noise. The common herd of 
the village fell back with respect ; the boys were driven back by 
Christy and his compeers ; w^hile Ready-Money Jack maintained 
his ground and his hold of the prisoner, and was surrounded by 
the tailor, the schoolmaster, and several other dignitaries of the 
village, and by the clamorous brood of gipsies, who were neither 
to be silenced nor intimidated. 

By this time the whole household w^ere brought to the doors 
and windows, and the Squire to the portal. An audience w^as de- 
mand(Hl by Ready-Money Jack, who had detected the prisoner in 
tlie very act of sheep-stealing on his domains, and had borne him 
off to he examined before the Squire, who is in the commission 
of the peace. 

A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the servants' hall, 



THE CULPRIT. 369 



a large chamber, with a stone floor, and a long table m the centre, 
at one end of which, just under an enormous clock, was placed 
the Squire's chair of justice, while Master Simon took his place 
at the table as clerk of the court. An attempt had been made by 
old Christy to keep out the gipsy gang, but in vain, and they, with 
the village worthies, and the household, half-filled the hall. The 
old housekeeper and the butler were in a panic at this dangerous 
irruption. They hurried away all the valuable things and porta- 
ble articles that were at hand, and even kept a dragon watch on 
the gipsies, lest they should carry off the house-clock, or the deal- 
table. 

Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the gamekeeper, acted 
as constables to guard the prisoner, triumphing in having at last 
got this terrible offender in their clutches. Indeed, I am inclined 
to think the old man bore some peevish recollection of having 
been handled rather roughly by the gipsy in the chance-medley 
affair of May- day. 

Silence was now commanded by Master Simon ; but it was 
difficult to be enforced in such a motley assemblage. There was 
a continual snarling and yelping of dogs, and, as fast as it was 
quelled in one corner, it broke out in another. The poor gipsy 
curs, who, like errant thieves, could not hold up their heads in an 
honest house, were worried and insulted by the gentlemen dogs 
of the establishment, without offering to make resistance ; the 
very curs of my Lady Lillycraft bullied them with impunity. 

The examination was conducted with great mildness and indul- 
f^ence by the Squire, partly from the kindness of his nature, and 
partly, I suspect, because his heart yearned towards the culprit, 
who had found great favor in his eyes, as I have already observed, 
from the skill he had at various times displayed in archery, morris 

16* 



37C BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



dancing, and other obsolete accomplishments. Proofs, however 
were too strong. Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straight- 
forward independent way, nothing daunted by the presence in 
which he found himself. He had suffered from various depreda- 
tions on his sheepfold and poultry-yard, and had at length kept 
watch, and caught the delinquent in the very act of making off 
with a sheep on his shoulders. 

Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course of his tes- 
timony, by the culprit's mother, a furious old beldame, with an 
insufferable tongue, and who, in fact, was several times kept, with 
some difficulty, from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, 
of the prisoner, whom I am told he does not beat above half a 
dozen times a week, completely interested Lady Lillycraft in her 
husband's behalf, by her tears and supplications ; and several of 
the other gipsy women were awakening strong sympathy among 
the young girls and maid-servants in the background. The pretty 
black-eyed gipsy girl, whom I have mentioned on a former occa- 
sion as the sibyl that read the fortunes of the general, endeavored 
to wheedle that doughty warrior into their interests, and even 
made some approaches to her old acquaintance, Master Simon ; 
but was repelled by the latter with all the dignity of office, hav- 
ing assumed a look of gravity and importance suitable to the 
occasion. 

I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest Slingsby, the 
schoolmaster, rather opposed to his old crony Tibbets, and coming 
forward as a kind of advocate for the accused. It seems that he 
had taken compassion on the forlorn fortunes of Starlight Tom, 
and had been trying his eloquence in his favor the whole way from 
the village, but without effect. During the examination of Ready- 
Money Jack, Slingsby had stood like " dejected pity at liis side/* 



THE CULPRIT. 37i 



seeking every now and then, by a soft word, to soothe any exacer- 
bation of his ire, or to quahfy any harsh expression. He now 
ventured to make a few observations to the Squire in paUiation 
of the delinquent's offence ; but poor Slingsby spoke more from 
the heart than the head, and was evidently actuated merely by a 
general sympathy for every poor devil in trouble, and a liberal 
toleration for all kinds of vagabond existence. 

The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind-heartedness :f 
the sex, w^ere zealous on the side of mercy, and interceded stren- 
uously with the Squire ; insomuch that the prisoner, finding him- 
self unexpectedly surrounded by active friends, once more reared 
his crest, and seemed disposed for a time to put on the air of 
injured innocence. The Squire, however, with all his benevo- 
lence of heart, and his lurking weakness towards the prisoner, 
was too conscientious to swerve from the strict path of justice. 
Abundant concurring testimony made the proof of guilt incontro- 
vertible, and Starlight Tom's mittimus was made out accordingly. 

The sympathy of the ladies was now greater than ever ; they 
even made some attempts to mollify the ire of Ready-Money 
Jack ; but that sturdy potentate had been too much incensed by 
the repeated incursions into his territories by the predatory band 
of Starlight Tom, and he was resolved, he said, to drive the 
" varment reptiles '' out of the neighborhood. To avoid all fur- 
ther importunities, as soon as the mittimus was made out, he girded 
up his loins, and strode back to his seat of empire, accompanied 
by his interceding friend, Slingsby, and followed by a detachment 
of the gipsy gang, who hung on his rear, assailing him with min- 
gled prayers and execrations. 

The question now was, how to dispose of the prisoner ; a mat- 
ter of great moment in this peaceful establishment, where so for- 



372 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



raidable a character as Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped 
in a dove-cote. As the hubbub and examination had occupied a 
considerable time, it was too late in the day to send him to the 
county prison, and that of the village was sadly out of repair 
from long want of occupation. Old Christy, who took great inter- 
est in the affair, proposed that the culprit should be committed foi 
the night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in one of the out 
houses, where he and the gamekeeper would mount guard. Aftei 
much deliberation, this measure was adopted ; the premises in 
question were examined and made secure, and Christy and his 
trusty ally, the one armed with a fowling-piece, the other with an 
ancient blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to keep watch over 
this donjon-keep. 

Such is the momentous affair that has just taken place, and it 
is an event of too great moment in this quiet little world, not to 
turn it completely topsy-turvy. Labor is at a stand. The house 
has been a scene of confusion the whole evening. It has been 
beleagured by gipsy women, with their children on their backs, 
wailing and lamenting ; while the old virago of a mother has 
cruised up and down the lawn in front, shaking her head and mut- 
tering to herself, or now and then breaking into a paroxysm of 
rnge, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and denouncing ill luck 
upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon the Squire himself. 

Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to the culprit's 
weeping wife, at the Hall door ; and the servant maids have sto- 
len out to confer with the gipsy women under the trees. As to 
the little ladies of the family, they are all outrageous at Ready- 
Money Jack, whom they look upon in the light of a tyrannical 
giant of fairy tale. Phoebe Wilkins, contrary to her usual nature, 
is tho. only one pitiless in the affair. She thinks Mr. Tibbets 



THE CULPRIT 373 



quite in the right ; and thinks the gipsies deserve to be punished 
severely for meddling with the sheep of the Tibbets's. 

In the meantime the females of the family evinced all the 
provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe and succcrr 
the distressed, right or wrong. Lady Lillycraft has had a mat- 
; tress taken to the outhouse, and comforts and delicacies of all 
kinds have been taken to the prisoner ; even the little girls have 
sent their cakes and sweetmeats ; so that, I'll warrant the vaga- 
bond has never fared so well in his life before. Old Christy, it 
is true, looks upon every thing with a wary eye ; struts about 
with his blunderbuss with the air of a veteran campaigner, and 
will hardly allow himself to be spoken to. The gipsy women 
dare not come within gunshot, and every tatterdemalion of a boy 
has been frightened from the park. The old fellow is determined 
to lodge Starlight Tom in prison with his own hands ; and hopes, 
he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an example of. 

I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is not the great- 
est sufferer in J:he whole affair. His honorable sense of duty 
obliges him to be rigid, but the overflowing kindness of his nature 
makes this a grievous trial to him. 

He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his justice 
in his truly patriarchal domain ; and it wounds his benevolent 
spirit, that while prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus 
bounteously upon him, he should have to inflict misery upon a 
fellow-being. 

He has been troubled and cast down the whole evening ; took 
leave of the family, on going to bed, with a sigh, instead of his 
usual hearty and affectionate tone ; and will, in all probability, 
have a far more sleepless night than his prisoner. Indeed, this 
unlucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole household, as there 



374 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



appears to be an uuiversal opinion that the unlucky culprit will 
come to the gallows. 

Morning. — The clouds of last evening are all blown over. A 
load has been taken from the Squire's heart, and every face is 
once more in smiles. The gamekeeper made his appearance at 
an early hour, completely shamefaced and crest-fallen. Starlight 
Tom had made his escape in the night ; how he had got out of 
the loft no one could tell : the Devil they think must have as- 
sisted him. Old Christy was so mortified that he would not show 
his face, but had shut himself up in his strong-hold at the dog- 
kennel, and would not be spoken with. What has particularly 
relieved the Squire is, that there is very little likelihood of the 
culprit's being retaken, having gone off on one of the old gentle- 
man's best hunters. 



FAMILY MISFOUTMES. 

The night has been unruly : where we .ay, 
The chimneys were blown down. 

Macbeth. 

We have for a day or two past had a flaw of unruly weather, 
which has intruded itself into this fair and flowery month, and for 
a time quite marred the beauty of the landscape. Last night the 
storm attained its crisis ; the rain beat in torrents against the case- 
raentSj and the wind piped and blustered about the old Hall with 
quite a wintry vehemence. The morning, however, dawned clear 
and serene ; the face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, 
and the sun shone with a brightness undimmed by a single vapor. 
Nothing overhead gave traces of the recent storm ; but on look- 
ing from my window I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs and 
flowers ; the garden walks had formed the channels for little tor- 
rents ; tree3 were lopped of their branches, and a small silver 
stream which wound through the park, and ran at the bottom of 
the lawn, had swelled into a turbid, yellow sheet of water. 

In an establishment like this, where the mansion is vast, 
ancient, and somewhat afliicted with the infirmities of age, and 
where there are numerous and extensive dependencies, a storm is 
an event of a very grave nature, and brings in its train a multi- 
plicity of cares and disasters. 

While the Squire was taking his breakfast in the great hall, 



i76 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



he was continually interrupted by bearers of ill tidings from some 
part or other of his domains ; he appeared to me like the com- 
mander of a besieged city, after some grand assault, receiving at 
his head-quarters reports of damages sustained in the various 
quarters of the place. At one time the housekeeper brought him 
intelligence of a chimney blown down, and a desperate leak 
sprung in the roof over the picture-gallery, which threatened to 
obliterate a whole generation of his ancestors. Then the steward 
came in with a doleful story of the mischief done in the wood- 
lands ; while the gamekeeper bemoaned the loss of one of his 
finest bucks, whose bloated carcass was seen floating along the 
swollen current of the river. 

T^Hien the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, before the 
door, by the old, paralytic gardener, with a face full of trouble, 
reporting, as I supposed, the devastation of his flower-beds, and 
the destruction of his wall-fruit. I remarked, however, that his 
intelligence caused a peculiar expression of concern not only with 
the Squire and Master Simon, but with the fair Julia and Lady 
Lilly craft, who happened to be present. From a few words 
which reached my ear, I found there was some tale of domestic 
calamity in the case, and that some unfortunate family had been 
r'^ndered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculations of pity 
broke from the ladies ; I heard the expressions of " poor helpless 
beings," and '-unfortunate little creatures," several times repeat- 
ed ; to which the old gardener replied by very melancholy shakes 
of the head. 

I felt so interested, that I could not help calling to tlie gar- 
dener, as he was retiring, and asking what unfortunate family it 
was that had suffered so severely. The old man touched his hat, 
and gazed at me for an instant, as if hardly comprehending my 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 377 



question. " Familj !" replied lie : " tkere be no family in the 
case, your honor ; but here have been sad mischief done in the 
rookery I'' 

I had noticed the day before that the high and gusty winds 
had occasioned great disquiet among these airy householders; 
their nests being all filled with young, who were in danger of 
being tilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, the old birds 
themselves seemed to have hard work to maintain a foothold; 
some kept hovering and cawing in the air ; or if they ventured to 
alight, had to hold fast, flap their wings, and spread their tails, 
and thus remain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. 

In the course of the night, however, an awful calamity had 
taken place in this most sage and politic community. There was 
a great tree, the tallest in the grove, which seemed to have been 
the kind of court-end of the metropolis, and crowded with the 
residences of those whom Master Simon considers the nobility 
and gentry. A decayed limb of this tree had given way with the 
violence of the storm, and came down with all its air-castles. 

One should be well aware of the humors of the good Squire 
and his household, to understand the general concern expressed 
at this disaster. It was quite a public calamity in this rura* 
empire, and all seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow- 
citizens in distress. 

The ground had been strewed with the callow young, which 
were now cherished in the aprons and bosoms of the maid-ser- 
vants, and the little ladies of the family. I was pleased with this 
touch of nature ; this feminine sympathy in the sniferings of the 
offspring, and the maternal anxiety of the parent birds. 

It was interesting, too, to witness the general agitation and 
distress prevalent throughout the feathered community ; the 



378 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

common cause that was made of ir ; and the incessant hovering, 
and fluttering, and lamenting, in the whole rookery. There is a 
chord of sympathy that runs through the whole feathered race as 
to any misfortunes of the young ; and the cries of a wounded bird 
in the breeding season w^ill throw a whole grove in a flutter and 
an alarm. Indeed, why should I confine it to the feathered tribe? 
Nature has implanted an exquisite sympathy on this subject, 
which extends through all her works. It is an invariable attri- 
bute of the female heart, to melt at the cry of early helplessness, 
and tc take an instinctive interest in the distresses of the parent 
and its }oung. On the present occasion the ladies of the family 
were fall of pity and commiseration ; and I shall never forget the 
look that Lady Lillycraft gave the general, on his observing that 
the young birds would make an excellent curry, or an especial 
good rook-pie. 



LOVERS' TROUBLES. 

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 

Sing all a green vviJlow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Sing all a i(reen willow must be my garland. 

Old Song. 

The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects of her 
hawking disaster, it begins to be thought high time to appoint a 
day for the wedding. As every domestic event in a venerable 
and aristocratic family connection like this is a matter of moment, 
the fixing upon this important day has, of course, given rise to 
much conference and debate. 

Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately sprung up, 
originating in the peculiar humors prevalent at the Hall. Thus, 
I have overheard a very solemn consultation between Lady Lil- 
lycraft, tlie parson, and Master Simon, as to wliether the mar- 
riage ought not to be postponed until the coming month. 

With all the charms of the flowery month of May, there is, 
I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a marrying month. An 
old proverb says, " To wed in May is to wed poverty." Now, as 
Lady Lillycraft is very much given to believe in lucky and un- 
hicky times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious on all 
points relating to the tender passion, this old proverb has taken 



380 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



grea'. hold upon her mind. She recollects two or three instances 
in her own knowledge of matches that took place in this month, 
and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, an own cousin of hers, 
who married on a May-day, lost her husband by a fall from his 
horse, after they had lived happily together for twenty years. 

The parson appeared to give great weight to her Ladyship's 
objections, and acknovvledged the existence of a prejudice of the 
kind, not merely confined to modern times, but prevalent likewise 
among the ancients. In confirmation of this, he quoted a passage 
from Ovid, which had a great effect on Lady Lillycraft, being 
given in a language which she did not understand. Even Master 
Simon was staggered by it; for he listened with a puzzled air; 
and then, shaking his head, sagaciously observed, that Ovid was 
certainly a very wise man. 

From this sage conference I likewise gathered several other 
important pieces of information relative to weddings ; such as that, 
if two were celebrated in the same church, on the same day, the 
first would be happy, the second unfortunate. If, on going to 
church, the bridal pai'ty should meet the funeral of a female, it 
was an omen that the bride would die first; if of a male, the 
bridegroom. If the newly-married couple were to dance together 
on their wedding-day, the wife would thenceforth rule the roast; 
with many other curious and unquestionable facts of the same 
nature, all which made me ponder more than ever upon the perila 
which surround this happy state, and the thoughtless ignorance of 
mortals as to the awful risk they run in venturing upon it. I ab 
stain, however, from enlarging upon this topic, having no inch'na- 
tion to promote the increase of bachelors. 

Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire gives to 
traditional saws and ancient opinions, I am happy to find that he 



LOVERS' TROUBLES. 38J 



makes a firm stand for the credit of this loving month, and brings to 
his aid a whole legion of poetical authorities ; all which, I pre- 
sume, have been conclusive with the young couple, as I under- 
stand they ^ire perfectly willing to marry in May, and abide the 
consequences. In a few days, therefore, the wedding is to take 
place, and the Hall is in a buzz of anticipation. The housekeeper 
is bustling about from morning till night, with a look full, of busi- 
ness and importance, having a thousand arrangements to make, 
the Squire intending to keep open house on the occasion ; and 
as to the housemaids, you cannot look one of them in the face, 
but the rogue begins to color up and simper. 

While, however, this leading love affair is going on with a 
tranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of romance, I cannot 
say that the underplots are equally propitious. The " opening 
bud of love '* between the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to 
have experienced some blight in the course of this genial season. 
I do not think the general has ever been able to retrieve the 
ground he lost, when he fell asleep during the captain's story. 
Indeed, Master Simon thinks his case is completely desperate, her 
ladyship having determined that he is quite destitute of sentiment. 

The season has been equally unpropitious to the love-lorn 
Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader will be impatient at having 
this humble amour so often alluded to ; but I confess I am apt to 
take a great interest in the love troubles of simple girls of this 
class. Few people have an idea of the world of care and per- 
plexity these poor damsels have in managing the affairs of the 
heart. 

We talk and write about the tender passion ; wc give it all the 
colorings of sentiment and romance, and lay the scene of its influ- 
ence in high life ; but, after all, I doubt whether its swa^ is not 



382 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



more absolute among females of an humbler sphere. How often, 
could we but look into the heart, should we find the sentiment 
throbbing in all its violence, in the bosom of the poor lady's- maid, 
I'^ther than in that of the brilliant beauty she is decking out for 
conquest ; whose brain is probably bewildered with beaux, ball- 
rooms, and wax-light chandeliers. 

With these humble beings love is an honest, engrossing con 
cern. They have no ideas of settlements, establishments, equi- 
pages, and pin-money. The heart — the heart is all-in-all with 
them, poor things ! There is seldom one of them but has her 
love-cares, and love-secrets ; her doubts, and ^ hopes, and fears, 
equal to those of any heroine of romance, and ten times as sin- 
cere. And then, too, there is her secret hoard of love-documents ; — 
.the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch, the lock of hair, the unin- 
telligible love-scrawl, all treasured up in her box of Sunday 
finery, for private contemplation. 

How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from some 
lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a mistress, who keeps a 
dragon watch over her virtue, and scouts the lover from the door. 
But then, how sweet are the little love-scenes, snatched at distant 
intervals of holiday, and fondly dwelt on through many a long 
day of household labor and confinement ! If in the country — it is 
the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the church-yard 
after serviqe, or the evening stroll in the green lane. If in town, 
it is perhaps merely a stolen moment of delicious talk between 
the bars of the area, fearful every instant of being seen ; and 
then, how lightly will the simple creature carol all day afterward.-^ 
al her labor ! 

Poor baggage 1 after all her crosses and difiicultles, w^hen sh^ 
marries, wliat is it but to exchange a life of comparative ease and 



LOVERS' TROUBLES. 383 



comfort, for one of toil and uncettainty ? Perhaps, too, the lover 
for whom in the fondness of her nature she has committed herself 
to fortune's freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dissolute, 
hardhearted husband of low life ; who, taking to the ale-house, 
leaves her to a cheerless home, to labor, penury, and child- 
bearing. 

When I see poor Phoebe going about with drooping eye, and 
her head hanging " all 'o one side," I cannot help calling to mind 
the pathetic little picture drawn by Desdemona : — 

" My mother had a maid called Barbara ; 
She was in lore ; and he she loved proved mad, 
And did forsake her ; she had a song of willow, 
An old thing 'twas ; but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it." 

I hope, however, that a better lot is. in reserve for Phoeba 
Wilkins, and that she may yet " rule the roast," in the ancient 
empire of the Tibbets's ! She is not fit to battle with hard hearts 
or hard times. She was, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, 
who was proud of the beauty of her child, and brought her up 
more tenderly than a village girl ought to be ; and ever since she 
has been left an orphan, the good ladies of the Hall have com- 
pleted the softening and spoiling of her. 

I have recently observed her holding long conferences in the 
church-yard, and up and down one of the lanes near the village, 
with Slingsby the schoolmaster. I at first thought the pedagogue 
might be touched with the tender malady so prevalent in these 
parts of late ; but I did him injustice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, 
was a friend and crony of her late father, the parish clerk ; and 
is on intimate terms with the Tibbets family : prompted, there- 



884 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



fore, by his good-wiil towards all parties, and secretly instigated, 
perhaps, by the managing dame Tibbets, he has undertaken to 
talk with Phoebe upon the subject. He gives her, however, but 
little encouragement. Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the 
aristocratical feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Phoebe 
were even to make the matter up with the son, she would find 
the father totally hostile to the match. The poor damsel, there- 
fore, is reduced almost to despair ; and Slingsby, who is too good- 
natured not to sympathize in her distress, has advised her to give 
up all thoughts of young Jack, and has proposed as a substitute 
his learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in the full- 
ness of his heart, offered to give up the school-house to them j 
thouofh it would leave him once more adrift in the wide world. 



THE HISTORIAN. 

Hcrmione. Pray you sit by us, 

And tell's a tale. 

Mamilius. Merry or sad shall't be ? 

Hermione. As merry as you will, 

Mamilius. A sad tale's best for winter. 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Hermione. Let's have that, sir. 

Winter's Tale. 

As this is a story-telling age, I have been tempted occasionally 
to give the reader one of the many tales served up with supper 
at the Hall. I might, indeed, have furnished a series almost 
equal in number to the Arabian Nights ; but some were rather 
hackneyed and tedious ; others I did not feel warranted in betray- 
ing into print ; and many more were of the old general's relating, 
and turned principally upon tiger-hunting, elephant-riding, and 
Seringapatam, enlivened by the wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, 
and the excellent jokes of Major Pendergast. 

I had all along maintained a quiet post at a corner of the 
table, where I had been able to indulge my humor undisturbed ; 
listening attentively when the story was very good, and dozing a 
liltle when it was rather dull, which I consider the perfection of 
auditorship. 

I was roused the other evening from a slight trance into^^hich 
[ had fallen during one of the general's histories, by n sudden 
' * 17 



38( BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



call from the Squire to furnish some entertainment of the kind in 
my turn. Having been so profound a listener to others, T could 
not in conscience refuse ; but neither mj memory nor invention 
being ready to answer so unexpected^ a demand, I begged leave 
to read a manuscript tale from the pen of my fellow-countryman, 
the late Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, the historian of New- York. ^ 
As this ancient chronicler may not be better known to my readers 
than he w^as to the company at the Hall, a word or two concern- 
ing him may not be amiss, before proceeding to his manuscript. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker w^as a native of New- York, a de- 
scendant from one of the ancient Dutch families which originally 
settled that province, and remained there after it was taken pos- 
session of by the English in 1664. The descendants of these 
Dutch families still remain in villages and neighborhoods in vari- 
ous parts of the country, retaining, with singular obstinacy, the 
dresses, manners, and even language of their ancestors, and 
forming a very distinct and curious feature in the motley popula- 
tion of the state. In a hamlet whose spire may be seen from 
New- York, rising from above the brow of a hill on the opposite 
side of the Hudson, many of the old folks, even at the present 
day, speak English with an accent, and the Dominie preaches in 
Dutch ; and so completely is the hereditary love of quiet and 
silence maintained, that in one of these drowsy villages, in tlie 
middle of a warm summer's day, the buzzing of a stout blue-bottle 
fly will resound from one end of the place to the other. 

With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kept up among 
these worthy people, did Mr. Knickerbocker undertake to write 
a history of his native city, comprising the reign of its three 
Dutch governors during the time that it w^as yet under the domi- 
nation of the Hogenmogens of Holland. In the execuuun of 



THE HISTORIAN. 381 



this design the little Dutchman has displayed great historical 
research, and a wonderful consciousness of the dignity of his 
subject. His work, however, has been so little understood, as to 
be pronounced a mere work of humor, satirizing the follies of the 
times, both in politics and morals, and giving whimsical views of 
human nature. 

Be this as it may :— among the papers left behind him were 
several tales of a lighter nature, apparently thrown together from 
materials gathered during his profound researches for his history, 
and which he seems to have cast by with neglect, as unworthy of 
publication. Some of these have fallen into my hands by an 
accident which it is needless at present to mention ; and one of 
these very stories, with its prelude in the words of Mr. Knicker- 
bocker, I undertook to read, by way of acquitting myself of the 
debt which I owed to the other story-tellers at the Hall. I sub- 
join it for such of my readers as are fond of stories. 



I 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 



FROM THE MSS. OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNI0KERBOCK£B 

Formerly almost every place had a house of this kind. If a house was seated on so*ri< 
melancholy place, or built in some old romantic manner, or if any particular accident nad 
happened in it, such as murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house had a mark set 
on it, and was afterwards esteemed the habitation of a ghost. 

Bourne's Antiquities. 

In tlie neighborhood of the ancient city of the Manhattoes there 
stood, not very many years since, an old mansion, which, when I 
was a boy, went by the name of the haunted house. It was one 
of the very few remains of the architecture of the early Dutch 
settlers, and must have been a house of some consequence at the 
time when it was built. It consisted of a centre and two wings, 
the gable ends of which were shaped like stairs. It was built 
partly of wood, and partly of small Dutch bricks, such as . the 
worthy colonists brought with them from Holland, before they 
discovered that bricks could be manufactured elsewhere. The 
house stood remote from the road, in the centre of a large field, 
with an avenue of old locust* trees leading up to it, several of 
which had been shivered by lightning, and two or three blown 
down. A few apple-trees grew straggling about the field ; there 
were traces also of what had been a kitchen garden ; but the 

* Acacias. 



390 BRACEBPJDGE HALL. 



fences were broken down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had 
grown wild, and turned to little better than weeds, with here and 
there a ragged rose-bush, or a tall sunflower shooting up from 
among the brambles, and hanging its head sorrowfully, as if con- 
templating the surrounding desolation. Part of the roof of the old 
house had fallen in, the window^s w^ere shattered, the panels of 
the doors broken, and mended with rough boards, and two rusty 
Aveather-cocks at the ends of the house made a great jingling and 
whistling as they whirled about, but always pointed wrong. The 
appearance of the whole place w^as forlorn and desolate at the 
best of times ; but, in unruly Aveather, the howling of the wand 
about the crazy old mansion, the screeching of the weather-cocks, 
and the slamming and banging of a few loose window-shutters, 
had altogether so wild and dreary an effect, that the neighborhood 
stood perfectly in awe of the place, and pronounced it the rendez- 
vous of hobgoblins. I recollect the old building well ; for many 
times, when an idle, unlucky urchin, I have prowled round its 
precinct, with some of my graceless companions, on holiday after- 
noons, when out on a freebooting cruise among the orchards 
There was a tree standing near the house that bore the most 
beautiful and tempting fruit; but then it.^was on enchanted 
gi-ound, for the place was so charmed by frightful stories that we 
dreaded to approach it. Sometimes Ave Avould venture in a body, 
and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye upon the old 
mansion, and darting fearful glances into its shattered Avindows 
wlicn, just as we Avere about to seize upon our prize, an exclama- 
tion from some one of the gang, or an accidental noise, Avould 
throw us all into a panic, and Ave Avould scamper headlong from 
th<' place, nor stop until Ave had got quite into the road. Then 
there Avere sure to be a host of fearful anecdotes told of strange 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 391 



cries and groans, or of some hideous face suddenly seen staring 
out of one of the windows. By degrees we ceased to venture 
into these lonely grounds, but would stand at a distance and 
throw stones at the building ; and there Avas something fearfully 
pleasing in the sound as they rattled along the roof, or sometimes 
struck some jingling fragments of glass out of the windows. 

The origin of this house was lost in the obscurity that covers 
the early period of the province, while under the government of 
their high mightinesses the states-general. Some reported it to 
have been a country residence of Wilhelmus Kieft, commonly 
called the Testy, one of the Dutch governors of New Amsterdam ; 
others said it had been built by a naval commander who served 
under Van Tromp, and who, on being disappointed of preferment, 
retired from the service in disgust, became a philosopher through 
sheer spite, and brought over all his wealth to the province, that 
he might live according to his humor, and despise the world. 
The reason of its having fallen to decay was likewise a matter of 
dispute ; some said it was in chancery, and had already cost more 
than its worth in legal expense ; but the most current, and, of 
course, the most probable account, was that it was haunted, and 
that nobody could live quietly in it. There can, in fact, be very 
little doubt that this last was the case, there were so many corro- 
borating stories to prove»it, — not an old woman in the neighbor- 
hood but could furnish at least a score. A gray-lieaded curmud- 
geon of a negro who lived hard by had a whole budget of them to 
tell, many of which had happened to himself. I recollect many 
a time stopping with my schoolmates, and getting him to relate 
3ome. The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst of a small 
patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which lii3 master had given 
him on settinp^ him free. He would come to us, with his hoc in 



392 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



his band, and as we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the 
rail of the fence, in the mellow twilight of a summer evening, 
would tell us such fearful stories, accompanied by such awful 
rollmgs of his white eyes, that we were ahuost afraid of our own 
footsteps as we returned home afterwards in the dark. 

Poor old Pompey ! many years are past since he died, and 
went to keep company with the ghosts he was so fond of talking 
about. He was buried in a corner of his own little potato patch ; 
the plough soon passed over his grave, and leveled it with the 
rest of the Held, and nobody thought any more of the gray-headed 
negro. By singular chance I was strolling in that neighborhood 
several years afterwards, when I had grown up to be a young 
man, and I found a knot of gossips speculating on a skull which- 
had just been turned up by a ploughshare. They of course 
determined it to be the remains of some one who had been mur- 
dered, and they had raked up with it some of the traditionary 
tales of the haunted house. I knew it at once to be the relic of 
poor Pompey, but I held my tongue ; for I am too considerate 
of othe ' people's enjoyment ever to mar a story of a ghost or a 
murder. I took care, however, to see the bones of my old friend 
once more buried in a place where they were not likely to be 
disturbed. As I sat on the turf and watched the interment, I fell 
into a long conversation with an old gentleman of the neighbor- 
hood, John Josse Vandermoere, a pleasant gossiping man, whose 
whole life was spent in hearing and telling the news of the pro- 
vince. He recollected old Pompey, and his stories about the 
Haunted House ; but he assured me he could give me one still 
more strange than any that Pompey had related; and on my 
expressing a great curiosity to hear it, he sat down beside me on 
the turf, and told the following tale. I have endeavored to give 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 393 



it as nearly as possible in his words ; but it is now many years 
since, and I am grown old, and my memory is not over good. 
I cannot therefore vouch for the language, but I am always 
^scrupulous as to facts. 

D. K. 



17» 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

•* 1 take the town of concord, where I dwell, 
All Kilborn be my witness, if I were not 
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness \ 
Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can 
!Zay 1 have beat 'un, and without a vault ; 
Or but a cat will swear upon a book, 
I have as much as zet a vire her tail. 
And I'll give him or her a crown for 'mends." 

Tale of a Tub. 

In the early time of the province of New- York, while it groaned 
under the tyranny of the English governor, Lord Cornbury, who 
carried his cruelties towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to 
allow no Dominie, or schoolmaster, to officiate in their language, 
without his special license; about this time, there lived in the 
jolly little old city of the Manhattoes, a kind motherly dame, 
known by the name of Dame Heyliger. She Wds the widow of 
a Dutch sea-captain, who died suddenly of a fever, in consequence 
of working too hard, and eating too heartily, at the time when all 
the inhabitants turned out in a panic, to fortify the place against 
the invasion of a small French privateer.* He left her with very 
^tle money, and one infant son, the only survivor of several 
children. The good woman had need of much management to 
make both ends meet, and keep up a decent appearance. IIow- 

* 1705. 



396 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



ever, as her husband had fallen a victim to his zeal for the public 
safety, it was universally agreed that " something ought to be 
done for the widow ;" and on the hopes of this "something" she 
lived tolerably for some years ; in the meantime every body pitied 
and spoke well of her, and that helped along. 

She lived in a small house, in a small street, called Garden- 
street, very probably from a garden which may have flourished 
there some time or other. As her necessities every year grew 
greater, and the talk of the public about doing " something for 
her" grew less, she had to cast about for some mode of doing 
something for herself, by way of helping out her slender means, 
and maintaining her independence, of which she was somewhat 
tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught something of the 
spirit, and determined to venture a little in the great lottery of 
commerce. On a sudden, therefore, to the great surprise of the 
street, there appeared at her window a gi'and array of ginger- 
bread kings and queens, with their arms stuck a-kimbo, after the 
invariable royal manner. There were also several broken tum- 
blers, some filled Avith sugar-plums, some with marbles ; there 
were, moreover, cakes of various kinds, and barley-sugar, and 
Holland dolls, and wooden horses, with here and there gilt-cohered 
picture-books, and now and then a skein of thread, or a dangling 
pound of candles. At the door of the house sat the good old 
dame's cat, a decent demure-looking personage, who seemed to 
scan every body that passed, to criticise their dress, and now and 
tliLMi to stretch her neck, and to look out with sudden curiosityjjJ|^ 
see what was going on at the other end of the street ; but if by 
chance any idle vagabond dog came by, and offered to be uncivil 
— hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle up, and growl, and spit, 



DOLPH HE.YLIGER. 397 



and strike out her paws ! she was as indignant as ever was an 
ancient and ugly spinster on the approach of some graceless 
profligate. 

But though the good woman had to come down to those hum- 
ble means of subsistence, yet she still kept up a feeling of family 
pride, being descended from the Vanderspiegels, of Amsterdam ; 
and she had the family arms painted and framed, and hung over 
her mantel-piece. She was, in truth, much respected by all the 
poorer people of the place ; her house was quite a resort of the 
old wives of the neighborhood ; they would drop in there of a 
winter's afternoon, as she sat knitting on one side of her fireplace, 
her cat purring on the other, and the tea-kettle singing before it ; 
and they would gossip with her until late in the evening. There 
was always an arm-chair for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called 
Long Peter, and sometimes Peter Longlegs, the clerk and sexton 
of the little Lutheran church, who was he^ great crony, and indeed 
the oracle of her fireside. Nay, the Dominie himself did not 
disdain, now and then, to step in, converse about the state of hei 
mind, and take a glass of her special good cherry brandy. In- 
deed, he never failed to call on new-year's day, and wish her a 
liappy new year ; and the good dame, who was a little vain on 
some points, always piqued herself on giving him as large a cake 
as any one in town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the child of hei 
old age ; but could hardly be called the comfort, for, of all un- 
lucky urchins, Dolph Heyliger was the most mischievous. Not 
that the whipster was really vicious ; he was only full of fun and 
frolic, and had that daring, gamesome spirit, which is exlolknl in 
a rich man's child, but execrated in a poor man's. lie was con- 
tinually getting into scrapes : his mother was incessantly harassed 



398 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



with complaints of some waggish pranks which he had played off* 
bills were sent in for windows that he had broken ; in a word, he 
had not reached his fourteenth year before he was pronounced, by 
all the neighborhood, to be a " wicked dog, the wickedest dog in 
the street !" Nay, one old gentleman, in a claret-colored coat, 
with a thin red face, and ferret eyes, Avent so far as to assure Dame 
Heyliger, that her son would, one day or other, come to the gallows ! 

Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved her boy. 
It seemed as though she loved him the better the worse he be- 
haved ; and that he grew more in her favor, the more he grew 
out of favor with the world. Mothers are foolish, fond-hearted 
beings ; there's no reasoning them out of their dotage ; and, 
indeed, this poor woman's child was all that was left to love her 
in this world ; — so we must not think it hard that she turned a 
deaf ear to her good friends, who sought to prove to her that 
Dolph would come to a halter. 

To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly attached to his 
parent. He would not willingly have given her pain on any ac- 
count ; and when he had been doing wrong, it w^as but for him tc 
catcl his poor mother's eye fixed wistfully and sorrowfully upon 
him, to fill his heart with bitterness and contrition. But he was 
a heedless youngster, and could not, for the life of him, resist any 
new temptation to fun and mischief. Though quick at his learn- 
ing, whenever he could be brought to apply himself, he was always 
prone to be led away by idle company, and would play truant to 
hunt after birds' nests, to rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and his mother 
began to be greatly perplexed what to do with him, or how to put 
him in a way to do for himself; for he had acquired such an un- 
lucky reputation, that no one seemed willing to employ him. 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 399 



Many were the consultations that she held with Peter de 
Groodtj the clerk and sexton, who was her prime counsellor. 
Peter was as much perplexed as herself, for he had no great 
opinion of the boy, and thought he would never come to good. 
He at one time advised her to send him to sea ; a piece of advice 
only given in the most desperate cases ; but Dame Heyliger would 
not listen to such an idea ; she could not think of letting Dolph go 
out of Ler sight. She was sitting one day knitting by her fire- 
side, in great perplexity, when the sexton entered with an air cf 
unusual vivacity and briskness. He had just come from a fune- 
ral. It had been that of a boy of Dolph's years, who had been 
apprentice to a famous German doctor, and had died of a con- 
sumption. It is true, there had been a whisper that the deceased 
had been brought to his end by being made the subject of the 
doctor's experiments, on which he was apt to try the effects of a 
new compound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is 
likely was a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de Groodt did not 
think it worth mentioning; though, had we time to philosophize 
it would be a curious matter for speculation, why a doctor's family 
is apt to be so lean and cadaverous, and a butcher's so jolly and 
rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the house of Dame 
Heyliger with unusual alacrity. A bright idea had popped into 
his head at the funeral, over which he had chuckled as he shoveled 
the earth into the grave of the doctor's disciple. It had occurred 
to him, that, as the situation of the deceased was vacant at the 
doctor's, it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, 
and could pound a pestle, and run an errand with any boy in the 
town, and what more was wanted in a student ? 

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of glory to the 



400 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's eye, with a 
cane at his nose, a knocker at his door, and an M. D. at the end 
of his name — one of the estabhshed dignitaries of the town. 

The matter once undertaken, was soon effected : the sexton 
had some influence with the doctor, they having had much 
dealing together in the way of their separate professions ; and 
the very next morning he called and conducted the urchin, clad in 
his Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspection of Dr. Karl Lodo- 
vick Knipperhausen. 

They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, in one corner 
of his study, or laboratory, with a large volume, in German print, 
before him. He was a short fat man, with a dark square face, 
rendered more dark by a black velvet cap. He had a little nob- 
bed nose, not unlike the ace of spades, with a pair of spectacles 
gleaming on each side of his dusky countenance, like a couple of 
bow windows. 

Dolph felt struck with awe on entering into the presence of 
this learned man ; and gazed about him with l^yish wonder at the 
furniture of this chamber of knowledge ; which appeared to him 
almost as the den of a magician. In the centre stood a claw- 
footed table, with pestle and mortar, phials and gallipots, and a 
pair of small burnished scales. At one end was a heavy clothes- 
press, turned into a receptacle for drugs and compounds ; against 
which hung the doctor's hat and cloak, and gold-headed cane, and 
on the top grinned a human skull. Along the mantel-piece were 
glass vessels, in which were snakes and lizards, and a human foetus 
preserved in spirits. A closet, the doors of which were taken ofl, 
contained three whole shelves of books, and some too of mighty 
folio dimensions ; a collection, the like of which Dolph had never 
before beheld. As, however, the library did not take up the 



DOLPH HRYLIGER. 401 



whole of the closet, the doctor's thrifty housekeeper had occupied 
iliG rest with pots of pickles and preserves ; and had hung about 
the room, among awful implements of the healing art, strings of 
red pepper and corpulent cucumbers, carefully preserved for seed. 

Peter de Groodt and his protege were received with great 
gravity and stateliness by the doctor, who was a very wise, digni- 
fied little man, and never smiled. He surveyed Dolph from head 
to foot, above, and under, and through his spectacles, and the poor 
lad's heart quailed as these great glasses glared on him like two 
full moons. The doctor heard all that Peter de Groodt had to 
say in favor of the youthful candidate ; and then wetting his 
thumb with the end of his tongue, he began deliberately to turn 
over page after page of the great black volume before him. At 
length, after many hums and haws, and strokings of the chin, and 
all that hesitation and deliberation with which a wise man pro- 
ceeds to do what he intended to do from the very first, the doctor 
agreed to take the lad as a disciple ; to give him bed, board, and 
clothing, and to instruct him in the healing art ; in return for 
which he was to have his services until his twenty-first year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed from an un- 
lucky urchin, running wild about the streets, to a student of medi- 
cine, diligently pounding a pestle, under the auspices of the learned 
Doctor Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a happy transi- 
tion for his fond old mother. She was delighted with the idea of 
her boy's being brought up worthy of his ancestors ; and antici- 
pated the day when he would be able to hold up his head with the 
lawyer, that lived in the large house opposite ; or, peradventure, 
with the Dominie himself. 

Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Palatinate in Ger- 
many ; whence, in company with many of his countrymen, he 



402 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



had taken refuge in England, on account of religious persecution. 
He was one of nearly three thousand Palatines, who came over 
from England in 1710, under the protection of Governor Hunter. 
Where the doctor had studied, how he had acquired his medical 
knowledge, and where he had received his diploma, it is hard at 
present to say, for nobody knew at the time ; yet it is certain 
that his profound skill and abstruse knowledge were the talk and 
wonder of the common people, far and near. 

His practice was totally different from that of any other phy- 
sician ; consisting in mysterious compounds, known only to him- 
self, in the preparing and administering of which, it was said, he 
always consulted the stars. So high an opinion was entertained 
of his skill, particularly by the German and Dutch inhabitants, 
that they always resorted to him in desperate cases. He was one 
of those infallible doctors, that are always effecting sudden and 
surprising cures, when the patient has been given up by all the 
regular physicians ; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the case has 
been left too long before it was put into their hands. The doc- 
tor's library was the talk and marvel of the neighborhood, I 
might almost say of the entire burgh. The good people looked 
Avith reverence at a man who had read three whole shelves full 
of books, and some of them too as large as a family Bible. 
There were many disputes among the members of the little Lu- 
theran church, as to which was the wisest man, the doctor or the 
Dominie. Some of his admirers even went so far as to say, that 
he knew more than the governor himself — in a word, it was 
thought that there was no end to his knowledge ! 

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's family, than 
he was put in possession of the lodging of his predecessor. It 
was a garret-room of a steep-roofed Dutch house, where the rain 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 403 



pattered on the shingles, and the lightnmg gleamed, and the wind 
piped through the crannies in stormy weather ; and where whole 
troops of hungry rats, like Don Cossacks, galloped about, in defi- 
ance of traps and ratsbane. 

He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being employed, 
morning, noon, and night, in rolling pills, filtering tinctures, or 
pounding the pestle and mortar in. one corner of the laboratory ; 
while the doctor would take his seat in another corner, when he 
had nothing else to do, or expected visitors, and arrayed m his 
mcrning-gown and velvet cap, would pore over the contents of 
some folio volume. It is true, that the regular thumping of 
Dolph's pestfe, or, perhaps, the drowsy buzzing of the summer 
files, would now and then lull the little man into a slumber ; but 
then his spectacles were always wide awake, and studiously 
regarding the book. 

There was another personage in the house, however, to whom 
Dolph was obliged to pay allegiance. Though a bachelor, and a 
man of such great dignity and importance, the doctor was, like 
many other wise men, subject to petticoat government. He was 
completely under the sway of his housekeeper ; a spare, busy, 
fretting housewife, in a little, round, quilted German cap, with a 
huge bunch of keys jingling at the girdle of an exceedingly long 
waist. Frau Use (or Frow Ilsy as it was pronounced) had 
accompanied him in his various migrations from Germany to 
England, and from England to the province ; managing his 
establishment and himself too : ruling him, it is true, with a gentle 
hand, but carrying a high hand with all the Avorld beside. How 
she had acquired such ascendency I do not pretend to say. Peo- 
ple, it is true, did talk — but have not people been prone to talk 
ever since the world began ? Who can tell how women generally 



404 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



contrive to get the upper hand ? A husband, it is true, may now 
and then be master in his own house ; but who ever knew & 
bachelor that was not managed by his housekeeper ? 

Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to the doctor's 
household. She was one of those prying gossips who know every 
one's business better than they do themselves ; and whose all-see- 
ing eyes, and all- telling tongues, are terrors throughout a neigh- 
borhood. 

Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of scandal of 
this little burgh, but it was known to Frau Ilsy. She had her 
crew of cronies, that were perpetually hurrying to her little parlor 
with some precious bit of news ; nay, she would soifietimes dis- 
cuss a whole volume of secret history, as she held the street door 
ajar, and gossiped with one of these garrulous cronies in the very 
teeth of a December blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper it may easily be 
supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. As Frau Ilsy kept 
the keys, and literally ruled the roast, it was starvation to offend 
her, though he found the study of her temper more perplexing 
even than that of medicine. When not busy in the laboratory, 
she kept him running hither and thither on her errands ; and on 
Sundays he was obliged to accompany her to and from church, 
and cany her Bible. Many a time has the poor varlet stood 
sliivering and blowing his fingers, or holding his frost-bitten nose, 
in the church-yard, while Ilsy and her cronies were huddled 
together, wagging their heads, and tearing some unlucky charac- 
ter to ])ieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very slow 
progress in his art. This was no fault of the doctor's, certainly, 
for he took unwearied pains with the lad, keeping him close to 



DOLPH KEYLIGER. 405 

the pestle and mortar, or on the trot about town with phials and 
pill-boxes ; and if he ever flagged in his industry, which he was 
rather apt to do, the doctor would fly into a passion, and ask hina 
if he ever expected to learn his profession, unless he applied him- 
self closer to the study. The fact is, he still retained the fond- 
ness for sport and mischief that had marked his childhood ; the 
habit, indeed, had strengthened with his years, and gained force 
from being thwarted and constrained. He daily grew more and 
more untractable, and lost favor in the eyes both of the doctor 
and the housekeeper. 

In the meantime the doctor went on, waxing wealthy and re- 
nowned. He was famous for his skill in managing cases not laid 
down in the books. He had cured several old women and young 
girls of witchcraft ; a terrible complaint, and nearly as prevalent in 
the province in those days as hydrophobia is at present. He had 
even restored one strapping country girl to perfect health, who 
had gone so far as to vomit crooked pins and needles ; which is 
considered a desperate stage of the malady. It was whispered, 
also, that he was possessed of the art of preparing love-powders ; 
and many applications had he in consequence from love -sick pa- 
ients of both sexes. But all these cases formed the mysterious 
part of his practice, in which, according to the cant phrase, " se- 
crecy and honor might be depended on." Dolph, therefore, was 
obhged to turn out of the study whenever such consultations oc- 
curred, though it is said he learnt more of the secrets of the art 
at the key-hole, than by all the rest of his studies put together. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to extend his 
possessions, and to look forward, like other great men, to the time 
when he should retire to the repose of a country seat. For this 
purpose he had purchased a farm, or, as the Dutch settlers called 



406 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



it, a howerie, a few miles from town. It had been the residence 
of a wealthy family, that had returned some time since to Hoi 
land. A large mansion-house stood in the centre of it, very much 
out of repair, and which, in consequence of certain reports, had 
received the appellation of the Haunted House. Either from 
these reports, or from its actual dreariness, the doctor found it 
impossible to get a tenant ; and, that the place might not fall to 
ruin before he could reside in it himself, he placed a country boor, 
with his family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the 
farm on shares. 

The doctor now felt all the dignity of a landholder rising 
within him. He had a little of the German pride of territory in 
his composition, and almost looked upon himself as owner of a 
principality. He began to complain of the fatigue of business ; 
and was fond of riding out -^ to look at his estate." His little 
expeditions to his lands w^ere attended with a bustle and parade 
that created a sensation throughout the neighborhood. His wall- 
eyed horse stood, stamping and wdiisking off the flies, for a full 
hour before the house. Then the doctor's saddle-bags would be 
brought out and adjusted ; then, after a little while, his cloak 
would be rolled up and strapped to the saddle ; then his umbrella 
would be buckled to the cloak ; while, in the meantime, a group 
of ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would gather be 
fore the door. At length the doctor would issue forth, in a pair 
of jack -boots that reached above his knees, and a cocked hat flap- 
ped doAvn in front. As he was a short,*fat man, he took som<* 
time to mount into the saddle ; and when there, he took some 
time to have the saddle and stirrups properly adjusted, enjoying 
the wonder and admiration of tlie urchin crowd. Even after^he 
had set off, he would pause in the middle of the street, or trot 



DOLPH HEYLIGER 407 



back two or three times to give some parting orders ; which were 
answered hy the housekeeper from the door, or Dolph from the 
study, or the black cook from the cellar, or the chambermaid from 
the garret window ; and there were generally some last words 
bawled after him, just as he was turning the corner. 

The whole neighborhood would be aroused by this pomp and 
circumstance. The cobbler would leave his last ; the barber 
would thrust out his frizzed head, with a comb sticking in it ; a 
knot would collect at the grocer's door, and the w^ord would be 
buzzed from one end of the street to the other, " The doctor's 
riding out to his country seat !" 

These were golden moments for Dolph. No sooner was the 
doctor out of sight, than pestle and mortar were abandoned ; the 
laboratory was left to take care of itself, and the student was off 
on some mad-cap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he grew up, 
seemed in a fair way to fulfill the prediction of the old, claret- 
colored gentleman. He was the ringleader of all holiday sports, 
and midnight gambols ; ready for all kinds of mischievous pranks, 
and hare-brained adventures. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a small scale, 
or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph soon became the ab- 
horrence of all drowsy, housekeeping, old citizens, who hated 
noise, and had no relish for waggery. The good dames, too, con- 
sidered him as little better than a reprobate, gathered their daugh- 
ters under their wings whenever he approached, and pointed him 
out as a warning to their sons. No one seemed to hold him in 
much r(^gard, excepting the wild striplings of the place, who were 
captivated by his open-hearted, daring manners, and the negroes, 
who always look upon every idle, do-nothing youngster, as a kind 



408 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



of gentleman. Even the good Peter de Groodt, who had con- 
sidered himself a kind of patron of the lad, began to despair of 
him ; and would shake his head dubiously, as he listened to a long 
complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of her rasp- 
berry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her affection by 
all the waywardness of her boy ; nor disheartened by the stories 
of his misdeeds, with which her good friends were continually re- 
galing her. She had, it is true, very little of the pleasure which 
rich people enjoy, in always hearing their children praised ; but 
she considered all this ill-will as a kind of persecution which he 
suffered, and she liked him the better on that account. She saw 
him growing up a fine, tall, good-looking youngster, and she looked 
at him with the secret pride of a mother's heart. It was her 
great desire that Dolph should appear like a gentleman, and all 
the money she could save went towards helping out his pocket and 
his wardrobe. She would look out of the window after him, as 
he sallied forth in his best array, and her heart would yearn with 
delight ; and once, when Peter de Groodt, struck with the young- 
ster's gallant appearance on a bright Sunday morning, observed, 
*' Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fellow !" the tear of 
pride started into the mother's eye ; " Ah, neighbor ! neighbor !'" 
exclaimed she, " they may say what they please ; poor Dolph will 
yet hold up his head with the best of them !" 

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one-and-twentieth 
year, and the term of his medical studies was just expiring ; yet 
it must be confessed, that he k.'iew little more of the profession 
than when he first entered the doctor's doors. This, howevei, 
could not be from any want of quickness of parts, for he showed 
amazing aptness in mastering other branches of knowledge, which 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 409 



he conld only have studied at intervals. He was, for instance, a 
sure marksman, and won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas- 
liolidays. He was a bold rider; he was famous for leaping and 
wrestling ; he played tolerably on the fiddle ; could swim like a 
iish ; and was" the best hand in the w^hole place at fives or 
ninepins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured him no favor 
in the eyes of the doctor, who grew more and more crabbed and 
intolerant the nearer the term of apprenticeship approached. 
Frau Ilsy, too, was for ever finding some occasion to raise 
a windy tempest about his ears ; and seldom encountered him 
about the house, without a clatter of the tongue ; so that at 
length the jingling of her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph 
like the ringing of the prompter's bell, that gives notice of a the- 
atrical thunder-storm. Nothing but the infinite good-humor of 
the heedless youngster enabled him to bear all this domestic 
tyranny without open rebellion. It was evident that the doctor 
and his housekeeper were preparing to beat the poor youth out 
of the nest, the moment his term should have expired; a short- 
hand mode which the doctor had of pn viding for useless dis- 
ciples. 

Indeed the little man had been rendered more thaii usually 
irritable lately, in crmsequence of various cares and vexations 
which his country estate had brought upon him. The doctor had 
been repeatedly annoyed by the rumors and tales which prevailed 
concerning the old mansion ; and found it difficult to prevail even 
upon the countryman and his family to remain there rent-free. 
Every time he rode out to the farm he was teased by some fresh 
^'omplaint of strange noises and fearful sights, with which the 
(Hnants were di>-^turbed at night; and the doctor would come 

18 



4iC BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



home fretting and fuming, and vent his spleen upon the whole 
household. It was indeed a sore grievance, that affected him 
hoth in pride and purse. He was threatened with an absolute 
loss of the profits of his property ; and then, wdiat a blow to his 
territorial consequence, to be the landlord cf a haunted house ! 

It was observed, however, that wdth all his vexation, the 
doctor never proposed to sleep in the house himself; nay, he 
could never be prevailed upon to remain on the premises after 
dark, but made the best of his way for town as soon as the bats 
began to flit about in the twilight. The fact was, the doctor had 
a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the early part of his life 
in a country where they particularly abound ; and indeed the 
story went, that, when a boy, he liad once seen the devil upon 
the Hartz mountains in Germany. 

At leno^th the doctor's vexations on this head were brouo^ht to 
a crisis. One morning, as he sat dozing over a volume in his 
study, he was" suddenly startled from his slumbers by the bustling 
in of the housekeeper. 

" Plere's a fine to do !" cried she, as she entered the room. 
" Here's Claus Hopper come in, bag and baggage, from the farm, 
and swears he'll have nothing more to do with it. The whole 
family have been frightened out of their wits ; for there's such 
racketing and rummaging about the old house, that they can't 
sleep quiet in their beds !" 

" Donner und blitzen !" cried the doctor, impatiently ; " will 
ihey never have done chattering about that house ? What a pack 
of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten them out of good 
quarters !" 

" Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her head know- 
ingly, and piqued at having a good ghost-story doubted, " there's 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 41. 



more in it than rats and mice. All the neighborhood talks about 
the house; and then sujh sights as have been seen in it! Peter 
de Groodt tells me, that the family that sold you the house, and 
went to Holland, dropped several strange hints about it, and said, 
* they wished you joy of your bargain ;' and you kno^v yourself 
here's no getting any family to live in it." 

" Peter De Groodt's a ninny — an old w^oman," said the doc- 
tor, peevishly ; " I'll warrant he's been filling these people's 
heads full of stories. It's just like his nonsense about the ghost 
that haunted the church belfry, as an excuse for not ringing the 
bell that cold night when Harmanus Brinkerhoif 's house "was on 
fire. Send Claus to me." 

Claus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple country 
lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very study of Dr. Knip- 
perhausen, and too much embarrassed to enter in much detail of 
the matters that had caused his alarm. He stood twirling his 
hat in one hand, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the 
other, looking occasionally at the doctor, and now and then steal- 
ing a fearful glance at the death's head that seemed ogling him 
from the top of the clothes-press. 

The doctor tried every means to persuade him to return to 
the farm, but all in vain ; he maintained a dogged determination 
on the subject ; and at the close of every argument or solicitation 
would make the same brief, inflexible reply, "Ich kan nicht, myn- 
heer." The doctor was a " little pot, and soon hot ;" his patience 
was exhausted by these continual vexations about his estate. 
The stubborn refusal of Claus Hopper seemed to him like flat 
rebellion ; his temper suddenly boiled over, and Claus was glad 
to make a rapid retreat to escape scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he found 



412 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Peter de Groodt, and several other true believers, ready to re- 
ceive him. Here he indemnified himself for the restraint he had 
suffered ii: the study, and opened a budget of stories about the 
haunted house that astonished all his hearers. The housekeeper 
believed them all, if it was only to spite the doctor for having 
received her intelligence so uncourteously. Peter de Groodt 
matched them with many a wonderful legend of the times of the 
Dutch dynasty, and of the Devil's Stepping-stones ; and of the 
pirate hanged at Gibbet Island, that continued to swing there 
at night long after the gallows was taken down; and of the 
ghost of the unfortunate Governor Leisler, hanged for treason, 
which haunted the old fort and the government-house. The 
gossiping knot dispersed, each charged with direful intelligence. 
The sexton disburdened himself at a vestry meeting that was 
held that very day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, and 
spent half the day at the street pump, that gossiping-place of 
servants, dealing forth the news to all that came for water. In 
a little time the whole town was in a buzz with tales about the 
haunted house. Some said that Glaus Hopper had seen the 
devil, while others hinted that the house was haunted by the 
ghosts of some of the patients whom the doctor had physicked out 
of the world, and that was the reason why he did not venture to 
live in it himself. 

All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. He threat- 
ened vengeance on any one who should affect the value of his 
property by exciting popular prejudices. He complained loudly 
of thus being in a manner dispossessed of his territories by mere 
bugbears ; but he secretly determined to have tL house exorcised 
by the Dominie. Great was his relief, therefore, when in the 
midst of his ])erplexities, Dol})h stepped forward and undertook to 



DOLPH HEYLIGER 413 



garrison the haunted house. The youngster had been listenmg tc 
all the stories of Claus Hopper and Peter de Groodt : he was 
fond of adventure, he loved the marvelous, and his imagination 
had become quite excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he 
had led such an uncomfortable life at the doctor's, being subjected 
to the intolerable thraldom of early hours, ^hat he was delighted 
at the prospect of having a house to himself,^ even though it 
should be a haunted one. His offer was eagerly accepted, and it 
was determined he should mount guard that very night. His 
only stipulation was, that the enterprise should be kept secret 
from his mother ; for he knew the poor soul would not sleep a wink 
if she knew her son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 
When night came on he set out on this perilous expedition. 
The old black cook, his only friend in the household, had provided 
him with a little mess for supper, and a rush-liglit ; and she tied 
round his neck an amulet, given her by an African conjurer, as a 
charm against evil spirits. Dolphwas escorted on his way by the 
doctor and Peter de Groodt, who had agreed to accompany him 
to the house, and to see him safe lodged. The night was over- 
cast, and it was very dark when they arrived at the grounds 
which surrounded the mansion* The sexton led the way with a 
lantern. As they walked along the avenue of acacias, the fitful 
light, catching from busli to bush, and tree to tree, often startled 
the doughty Peter, and made him fall back upon his followers ; 
and the doctor grappled still closer hold of Dolph's arm, observing 
that the ground was very slippery and uneven. At one time they 
were nearly put to total rout by a bat, which came flitting about 
the lantern ; and the notes of the insects from the trees, and the 
frogs from a neighboring pond, formed a most drowsy and dolefql 
concert. 



414 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

The front door of the mansion opened with a grating sound, 
that made the doctor turn pale. They entered a tolerably large 
hall, such as is common in American country-houses, and which 
serves for a sitting-room in warm weather. From this they went 
up a wide staircase, that groaned and creaked as they trod, every 
step making its particular note, like the key of a harpsichord. 
This led to another hall on the second story, whence they entered 
the room where Dolph was to sleep. It Vvas large, and scantily 
furnished ; the shutters were closed ; but as they were much 
broken, there was no want of a circulation of air. It appeared 
to have been that sacred chamber, known among Dutch house- 
wives by the name of " the best bed-room ;" which is the best 
furnished room in the house, but in which scarce any body is 
ever permitted to sleep. Its splendor, however, was all at an end. 
There were a few broken articles of furniture about the room, 
and in the centre stood a heavy deal-table and a large arm-chair, 
both of which had the look of being coeval with the mansion. 
The fireplace Avas wide, and had been faced with Dutch tiles, re- 
presenting Scripture stories ; but some of them had fallen out of 
their places, and lay shattered about the hearth. The sexton lit 
the rush-light ; and the doctor, looking fearfully about the room, 
was just exhorting Dolph to be of good cheer, and to pluck up a 
stout heart, when a noise in the chimney, like voices and strug- 
gling, struck a sudden panic into the sexton. He took to his 
heels with tlie lantern ; the doctor followed hard after him ; the 
stairs groaned and creaked as they hurried down, increasing their 
agitation and speed by its noises. The front door slammed after 
them ; and Dolph heard them scrabbling down the avenue, till the 
sound of their feet was lost in the distance. That he did not join 
Ui this precipitate retreat might have been owing to his possess- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 415 



ing a little more courage than his companions, or perhaps that he 
had caught a glimpse of the cause of their dismay, in a nest of 
cliimney swallows, that came tumbling down into the fireplace. 

Being now left to himself, he secured the front door by a 
strong bolt and bar ; and having seen that the other entrances 
were fastened, returned to his desolate chamber. Having made 
his supper from the basket Vv^hich the good old oook had provided, 
he locked the chamber door, and retired to rest on a mattress in 
one corner. The night w*as calm and still ; and nothing broke 
upon the profound quiet, but the lonely chirping of a cricket from 
the chimney of a distant chamber. The rush-light, which stood in 
the centre of the deal-table, shed a feeble yellow ray, dimly illu- 
mining the chamber, and making uncouth shapes and shadows 
on the walls, from the clothes^which Dolph had thrown over a 
chair. 

With all his boldness of heart, there was something subduing 
in this desolate scene ; and he felt his spirits flag within him, as 
he lay on his hard bed and gazed about the room. He was turn- 
ing over in his mind his idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and 
now and then heaving a heavy sigh, as he thought on his poor old 
mother ; for there is nothing like the silence and loneliness of 
night to bring dark shadows over the brightest mind. By-and-by 
he thought he heard a sound as of some one walking below stairs. 
He listened, and distinctly heard a step on the great staircase. It 
approached solemnly and slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It was 
evidently the tread of some heavy personage ; and yet how could 
he have got into the house without making a noise ? He had ex- 
amined all the fastenings, and was certain that ever}^ entrance 
was secure. Still the steps advanced, tramp — tramp — tramp ! 
It was evident that the person approaching could not be a robber 



-lib BRACEBRIDGE HALL 



th3 step was too loud and deliberate; a robb3r would either be 
6t.:althy or precipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended tlie 
staircase ; they were slowly advancing along the passage, resound- 
ing through the silent and empty apartments. The very cricket 
had ceased its melancholy note, and nothhig interrupted their 
awful distinctness. The door, which had been locked on the 
inside, slowly swung open, as if self-moved. The footsteps en- 
tered the room ; but no one A\^as to be seen. They j^assed slowdy 
and audibly across it, tramp — tramp — tramp ! but w^hatever made 
the sound w^as invisible. Dolph rubbed his eyes, and stared 
about him ; he could see to every part of the dimly-lighted cham- 
ber ; all was vacant ; yet still he heard those mysterious footsteps, 
solemnly w^alking about the chamber. They ceased, and all was 
dead silence. There was something more appalling in this invisi- 
ble visitation, than there w^ould have been in any thing that 
addressed itself to the eyesight. It was aw^fully vague and inde- 
fiiiite. He felt his heart beat against his ribs ; a cold sweat broke 
out upon his forehead ; he lay for some time in a state of violent 
agitation ; nothing, however, occurred to increase his alarm. His 
light gradually burnt down into the socket, and he fell asleep. 
When he awoke it w^as broad daylight ; the sun was peering through 
tlu; cracks of the window-shutters, and the birds w^ere merrily 
singing about the house. Thj bright cheery day soon put to flight 
all the terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or rather 
tried to laugh, at all that had passed, and endeavored to persuade 
himself that it was a mere freak of the imagination, conjured up 
by the stories he had heard; but he was a little puzzled to find 
the door of his room locked on the inside, notwithstanding that lie 
had positively seen it swing open as the footsteps had entered. 
He rctiiriK'd to town in a state of considerable perplexity ; but he 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 417 



determined to say nothing on the subject, until his doubts were 
either conlirmed or removed by another night's watching. His 
silence was a grievous disappointment to the gossips who had 
gathered at the doctor's mansion. They had prepared their minds 
to hear direful tales, and Avere almost in a rage at being assured 
lie had nothing to relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigiL He now 
entered the house with some trepidation. He was particular in 
examining the fastenings of all the doors, and securing vhem well. 
He locked the door of his chamber, and placed a chair against it ; 
then having dispatched his supper, he threw himself on his mat- 
ress and endeavored to sleep. It was all in vain ; a thousand 
crowding fancies kept him waking. The time slowdy dragged on, 
as if minutes were spinning themselves out into hours. As the 
nighi advanced, he grew more and more nervous ; and he ahnost 
started from his couch when he heard the mysterious footstep 
again on the staircase. Up it came, as before, solemnly and 
slowly, tramp— tramp — tramp ! It approached along the pas- 
sage ; the door again swung open, as if there had been neither 
lock nor impediment, and a strange looking figure stalked into 
the room. It was an elderly man, large and robust, clothed in 
the old Flemish fashion. He had on a kind of short cloak, with 
a garment under it, belted round the waist ; trunk hose, with 
great bunches or bows at the knees ; and a pair of russet boots, 
very large at top, and standing widely from liis legs. His hat 
was broad and slouched, with a feather trailing over one side. 
His iron-gray hair hung in thick masses on his neck ; and lie had 
a sliort grizzled beard. He walked slowly round the room, as if 
examining that all was safe ; then, hanging his hat on a peg 
beside the door, he sat down in the elbow-chair, and, leaning his 

18* 



418 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



elbow on the table, fixed his eyes on Dolph with an immoving 
.«,ncl deadening stare. 

Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had been brought 
up in an implicit belief in ghosts and goblins. A thousand stories 
came swarming to his mind that he had heard about this building; 
and as he looked at this strange personage, with his uncouth garb, 
his pale visage, his grizzly beard, and his fixed, staring, fish-like 
eye, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a 
cold sweat to break out all over his body. How long he remained 
in this situation he could not tell, for he was like one fascinated. 
He could not take his gaze off from the spectre ; but lay staring 
at him, with his whole intellect absorbed in the contemplation. 
The old man remained seated behind the table, without stirring, 
or turning an eye, always keeping a dead steady glare upon 
Dolph. At length the household cock, from a neighboring f^m, 
clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful crow that rung over 
the fields. At the sound the old man slowly rose, and took down 
his hat from the peg ; the door opened, and closed after him ; he 
was heard to go slowly down the staircase, tramp — tramp — 
tramp ! — and when he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. 
Dolph lay and listened earnestly ; counted every footfall ; listened, 
and listened, if the steps should return, until, exhausted by watch- 
ing and agitation, he fell into a troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and assurance. He 
would fain have considered all that had passed as a mere dream 
yet there stood the chair in which the unknown had seated him 
?elf ; there was the table on which he had leaned ; there vv^as the 
peg on which lie had hung his hat ; and there was the door, 
locked precisely as he himself had locked it, with the chair placed 
against it. He hastened down stairs, and examined the doors 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 419 



and windows ; all were exactly in the same state in which he had 
left them, and there was no apparent way by which any being 
could have entered and left the house, without leaving some trace 
behind. "■ Pooh !" said Dolph to himself, '' it was all a dream :" — 
but it would not do ; the more he endeavored to shake the scene 
off from his mind, the more it haunted him. 

Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he had 
seen or heard, yet his looks betrayed the uncomfortable night that 
he had passed. It was evident that there was something wonder- 
ful hidden under this mj^sterious reserve. The doctor took him 
into the study, locked the door, and sought to have a full and 
confidential communication ; but he could get nothing out of him. 
Frau Ilsy took him aside into the pantry, but to as little purpose ; 
and Peter de Groodt held him by the button for a full hour, in 
the church-yard, the very place to get at the bottom of a ghost 
story, but came off not a whit wiser than the rest. It is always 
the case, however, that one truth concealed makes a dozen cur- 
i-ent lies. It is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a 
dozen paper representatives. Before the day was over, the 
neighborhood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph Heyli- 
ger watched in the haunted house, with pistols loaded with silver 
bullets ; others, that he had a long talk with a spectre without a 
head ; others, that Doctor Knipperhausen and the sexton had been 
hunted down the Bowery lane, and quite into town, by a legion of 
ghosts of their customers. Some shook their heads ; and thought 
it a shame the doctor should put Dolph to pass the night alone in 
that dismal house, where he might be spirited away, no one knew 
whither ; while others observed, with a shrug, that if the devil did 
carry off the youngster, it would be but taking his own 

These rumors at lent>:tli reached the ears of the j2:ood Dame 



420 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw hei into a terrible 
alarm. For her son to have opposed himself to danger from 
living foes, would have been nothing so dreadful in her eyes, as 
to dare alone the terrors of the haunted house. She hastened to 
the doctor's, and passed a great part of the day in attempting to 
dissuade Dolph from repeating his vigil ; she told him a score of 
tales, which her gossiping friends had just related to her, of per- 
sons who liad been carried off, when watching alone in old ruinous 
houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's pride, as well as curi- 
osity, was piqued. He endeavored to calm the apprehensions of 
his mother, and to assure her that there was no truth in all the 
rumors she had heard ; she looked at him dubiously and shook 
her head ; but finding his determination was not to be shaken, she 
brought him a little thick Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, to take 
witli him, as a sword whercAvith to fight the powers of darkness ; 
and, lest that might not be sufficient, the housekeeper gave him 
the Heidelberg catechism by way of dagger. f^ 

The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quarters for the 
third time in the old mansion. Whether dream or not, the same 
thing was repeated. Towards midnight, when every thing w^as 
still, the same sound echoed through the empty halls — tramp — 
tramp — tramp ! The stairs were again ascended ; the door again 
swung open ; the old man entered ; walked round the room ; 
hung up his hat, and seated himself by the table. The same fear 
and trembling came over poor Dolph, though not in so violent a 
degree. He lay in the same way, motionless and fascinated, star- 
ing at the figure, which regarded him as before with a dead, fixed, 
chilling gaze. In this way they remained for a long time, till, by 
degrees, Dolph's courage began gradually to- revive. Whether 
aliv<; or dead, this being had certainly some object in his visitar 



nOLPH HEYLIGER. 42J 



tion ; and he recollected to have heard it said, spirits have no 
power to speak until spoken to. Summoning up resolution, there- 
fore, and making two or three attempts, before he could get his 
parched tongue in motion, he addressed the unknown in the most 
solemn form of adjuration, and demanded to know what was the 
motive of his visit. 

No sooner had he finished, than the old man rose, took iown 
his hat, the door opened, and he went out,, looking back upon 
Dolph just as he crossed the threshold, as if expecting him to 
follow. The youngster did not hesitate an instant. He took the 
candle in his hand, and the Bible under his arm, and obeyed the 
tacit invitation. The candle emitted a feeble, uncertain ray ; 
but still he could see the figure before him, slowly descend the 
stairs. He followed, trembling. When it had reached the bot- 
tom of the stairs, it turned through the hall towards the back 
door of the mansion. Dolph held the light over the balustrades ; 
but, in his eagerness to catch a sight of the unknown, he flared 
his feeble taper so suddenly, that it went out. Still there was 
suflicient light from the pale moonbeams, that fell through a nar- 
row window, to give him an indistinct view of the figure, near the 
door. He followed, therefore, down stairs, and turned towards 
the place ; but when he arrived there, the unknown had disap- 
peared. The door remained fast barred and bolted ; there was 
no other mode of exit ; yet the being, whatever he might be, was 
gone. He unfastened the door, and looked out into the fields. It 
was a hazy, moonlight night, so that tlie eye could distinguish ob- 
jects at some distance. He thought he saw the unknown in a 
footpath which led from the door. He was not mistaken ; but 
how had he got out of the house ? He did not pause to think, but 
followed on. The old man proceeded at a measured pace, with- 



422 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

out looking about him, his footsteps sounding on the hard ground. 
He passed through the orchard of apple-trees, always keeping the 
footpath. It led to a well, situated in a little hollow, which had 
supplied the farm with water. Just at this well Dolph lost sight 
of him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again ; but nothing was 
to be seen of the unknown. He reached the well, but nobody 
was there. All the surrounding ground was op<;n and clear ; tht^re 
was no bush nor hiding-place. He looked down the well, and saw, 
at a great depth, the reflection of the sky in the still water. After 
remaining here for some time, without seeing or hearing any thing 
more of his mysterious conductor, he returned to the house, full of 
ftwe and wonder. He bolted the door, groped his way back to 
bed, and it was long before he could compose himself to sleep. 

His dreams were stranoje and troubled. He thoudit he was 
following the old man along the side of a great river, until they 
came to a vessel on the point of sailing ; and that his conductor 
led him on board and vanished. He remembered the commander 
of the vessel, a short swarthy man, with crisped black hair, blind 
of one eye, and lame of one leg ; but the rest of his dream was 
very confused. Sometimes he was sailing ; sometimes on shore ; 
now amidst storms and tempests, and now wandering quietly in 
unknown streets. The figure of the old man was strangely min- 
gled up with the incidents of the dream ; and the whole distinctly 
wound up by his finding himself on board of the vessel again, 
returning home, with a great bag of money ! 

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was streaking 
the horizon, and the cocks passing the reveille from farm to farm 
tliroughout the country. He rose more harassed and perplexed 
than ever. He was singularly confounded by all that he had seen 
nnd dreamt, and began to doubt whether his mind was not affected, 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 423 



and whether all that was passing in his thoughts might not be 
mere feverish fantasy. In his present state of mind, he did not 
feel disposed to return immediately to the doctor's, and undergo 
the cross-questioning of the household. He made a scanty break- 
fast, therefore, on the remains of the last night's provisions, and then 
wandered out into the fields to meditate on all that had befallen 
him. Lost in thought, he rambled about, gradually approaching 
the town, until the morning was far advanced, when he Avas roused 
by a hurry and bustle around him. He found himself near the 
water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a pier, w^here was a 
vessel ready to make sail. He was unconsciously carried along by 
the impulse of the crowd, and found that it was a sloop, on the 
point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. There was much 
leave-taking, and kissing of old women and children, and great 
activity in carrying on board baskets of bread and cakes, and pro- 
visions of all kinds, notwithstanding the mighty joints of meat 
that dangled over the stern ; for a voyage to Albany was an ex- 
pedition of great moment in those days. The commander of the 
sloop was hurrying about, and giving a world of orders, which 
were not very strictly attended to ; one man being busy in light- 
ing his pipe, and another in sharpening his snicker-snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly caught Dolph's 
attention. He was short and swarthy, with crisped black hair ; 
blind of one eye and lame of one leg — the very commander that 
he had seen in his dream! Surprised and aroused, he considered 
the scene more attentively, and recalled still further traces of his 
dream : the appearance of the vessel, of the river, and of a va- 
riety of other objects, accorded with the imperfect images vaguely 
rising to recollection. 

As lie stood musing on these circumstances, the captain sud- 



424 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



denly called out to him in Dutch, '' Step on board, young mati, 
or you'll be left behind 1" He was startled by the summons ; he 
saw that the sloop was cast loose, and was actually moving from 
the pier ; it seemed as if he was actuated by some irresistible 
impulse ; he sprang upon the deck, and the next moment the 
sloop was hurried off by the wind and tide. Dolph's thoughts 
and feelings w^ere all in tumult and confusion. He had been 
strongly worked upon by the events which had recently befallen 
him, and could not but think there was some connection between 
lis present situation and his last night's dream. He felt as if 
under supernatural influence ; and tried to assure himself with an 
old and favorite maxim of his, that " one way or other, all would 
turn out for the best." For a moment, the indignation of the 
doctor at his departure, without leave, passed across his mind, but 
that was matter of little moment ; then he thought of the distress 
of his mother at his strange disappearance, and the idea gave him 
a sudden pang ; he would have entreated to be put on shore ; but 
he knew with such wind and tide the entreaty would have been 
in vain. Then the inspiring love of novelty and adventure came 
rushmg in full tide through his bosom ; he felt himself launched 
strangely and suddenly on the world, and under full way to ex- 
plore the regions of wonder that lay up this mighty river, and 
beyond tho^e blue mountains w^hich had bounded his horizon since 
childhood. While he was lost in this whirl of thought, the sails 
strained to the breeze ; the shores seemed to hurry away behind 
him ; and, before he perfectly recovered his self-possession, the 
^loop was ploughing her way past Spiking-devil and Yonkers, 
itid the tallest chimney of the Manhattoes had faded from his 
Mght. 

I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in those davs wa? 



DOLPIi HEYLIGER. 435 



an undertaking of some moment ; indeed, it was as much thought 
of as a voyage to Europe is at present. The sloops were often 
many days on the w^ay ; the cautious navigators taking in sail 
when it blew fresh, and coming to anchor at night ; and stopping 
to send the boat ashore for milk for tea ; without which it was 
impossible for the worthy old lady passengers to subsist. And 
there were the much-talked-of perils of the Tappaan Zee, and the 
highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgher would talk of 
Siich a voyage for months, and even years, beforehand ; and never 
undertook it without putting his affairs in order, making his will, 
and having prayers said for him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was satisfied 
he would have time enough to reflect, and to make up his mind 
as to what he should do when he arrived at Albany. The cap- 
tain, with his blind eye, and lame leg, would, it is true, bring his 
strange dream to mind, and perplex him sadly for a few mo- 
ments ; but of late his life had been made up so much of dreams 
and realities, his nights and days had been so jumbled together, 
that he seemed to be moving continually in a delusion. There is 
always, however, a kind of vagabond consolation in a man's hav- 
ing nothing in this world to lose ; with this Dolph comforted his 
heart, and determined to make the most of the present enjoyment. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to the highlands. 
It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that they floated gen- 
tly with the tide between these stern mountains. There was that 
perfect quiet which prevails over nature in the languor of summer 
Jieat ; the turning of a plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on 
deck, was echoed from the mountain side, and reverberated along 
the shores ; and if by chance the captain gave a shout of com- 
mandj there were airy tongues which mocked it from every cliff. 



426 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and wonder at these 
scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the Dunderberg 
reared its woody precipices, height over height, forest over forest, 
away into the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the 
bold promontory of Antony's Nose, with a sohtary eagle wheeling 
about it ; while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until 
thev seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this mighty 
river in their embraces. There was a feeling of quiti luxury in 
gazing at the broad, green bosoms here and there scooped out^ 
among the precipices ; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over 
the edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent 
in the yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile oi 
bright, snowy clouds peering above the western heights. It was 
succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly pushing 
onwards its predecessor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, 
in the deep blue atmosphere : and now muttering peals of thun- 
der were faintly heard rolling behind the mountains. The river, 
hitherto still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, 
now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came 
creeping up it. The fish-hawks Avheeled and screamed, and 
sought their nests on the high dry trees; the crows flew clamor- 
ously to the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious 
of the approaching thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain-tops; 
their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower parts of an 
inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in broad and 
scattered drops ; the wind freshened, and curled up the waves ; 
at hmgth it seemed as if the bellying clouds were torn open by 
the mountain-tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattbng 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 427 



down. The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed 
quivering against the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest 
forest-trees. The thunder burst in tremendous explosions ; the 
peals were echoed from mountain to mountain ; they crashed 
upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long defile of the highlands, 
each headland making a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to 
yellow back the storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted rain, 
almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was- a fearful 
gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the streams of lightning 
which glittered among the rain-drops. Never had Dolph beheld 
such an absolute warring of the elements ; it seemed as if the 
storm was tearing and rending its way through this mountain 
defile, and had brought all the artillery of heaven into action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wand, until she 
came to where the river makes a sudden bend, the only one in 
the whole course of its majestic career.* Just as they turned the 
point, a violent flaw of wind came sweeping down a mountain 
gully, bending the forest before it, and, in a moment, lashing up 
the river into white froth and foam. The captain saw the dan- 
ger, and cried out to lower the sail. Before the order could be 
obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, and threw her on her beam- 
ends. Every thing now was fright and confusion : the flapping 
of the sails, the whistling and rushing of the wind, the bawling of 
the captain and crew, the shrieking of the passengers, all mingled 
with the rolling and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst of 
the uproar the sloop righted ; at the same time the mainsail 
shifted, the boom came sweeping the quarter-deck, and Dolpli. 

* This must have been the bend at West Point. 



4^8 BRACEBRIDGIi: HALL 



who was gazing unguardedly at the clouds, found himself, in a 
moment, floundering in the river. 

For once in his life one of his idle accomplishments was of 
use to him. The many truant hours he had devoted to sporting 
in the Hudson had made him an expert swimmer; yet with all 
his strength and skill, he found great difficulty in reaching the 
shore. His disappearance from the deck had not been noticed 
by the crew, Avho were all occupied by their own danger. The 
sloop was driven along with inconceivable rapidity. She had 
hard work to weather a long promontory on the eastern shore, 
round which the river turned, and which completely shut her 
from Dolph's view. 

It was on a point of the western shore that he landed, and, 
scrambling up the rocks, threw himself, faint and exhausted, at 
the foot of a tree. By degrees the thunder-gust passed over. 
The clouds rolled away to the east, where they lay piled in 
feathery masses, tinted with the last rosy rays of the sun. The 
distant play of the lightning might be seen about the dark bases, 
and now and then might be heard the faint muttering of the thun- 
der. Dolph rose, and sought about to see if any path led from 
the shore, but all was savage and trackless. The rocks wen- 
piled upon each other ; great trunks of trees lay shattered about, 
as they had been blown down by the strong winds which draw 
througli these mountains, or had fallen through age. The rocks, 
lOO, were overhung with wild vines and briers, w^ilch completely 
matted themselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress; 
ev(M*y movement that he made shook down a shower from the 
dri))|)ing foliage. He attempted to scale one of these almost per- 
pendicular heights; but, though strong and agile, he found it an 
Hercjilc.'in undertaking. Often he was supported merely by 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 429 



crumbling projections of the rock, and sometimes he clung to roots 
and branches of trees, and hung almost suspended in the air. 
The wood-pigeon came cleaving his whistling flight by him, and 
the eagle screamed from the brow of the impending cliff. As he 
was thus clambering, he was on the point of seizing hold of a 
shrub to aid his ascent, when something rustled among the leaves, 
and he saw a snake quivering along like lightning, almost from 
under his hand. It coiled itself up immediately, in an attitude of 
defiance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and quickly vibrating 
tongue^ that played like a little flame about its mouth. Dolph's 
heart turned faint within him, and he had well nigh let go his 
hold, and tumbled down the precipice. The serpent stood on the 
defensive but for an instant ; and finding there w^as no attack, 
glided away into a cleft of the rock. Dolph's eye folio w^ed it 
wath fearful intensity, and saw a nest of adders, knotted, and 
writhing, and hissing in the chasm. He hastened with all speed 
from so frightful a neighborhood. His imagination, full of this 
new horror, saw an adder in every curling vine, and heard the 
tail of a rattlesnake in every dry leaf that rustled. 

At length he succeeded in scrambling to the summit of a pre- 
cipice ; but it w^as covered by a dense forest. Wherever he could 
gain a look out between the trees, he beheld heights and cliffs, 
one rising beyond another, until huge mountains overtopped the 
whole. There were no signs of cultivation ; no smoke curling 
among the trees to indicate a human residence. Every thing was 
wild and solitary. As he was standing on the edge of a precipice 
overlooking a deep ravine fringed with trees, his feet detached a 
great fragment of rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the tree- 
tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or rather yell, issued 
frotn the bottom of the glen ; the moment after there was the 



430 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



report of a gun ; and a ball came whistling over his head, cutting 
the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a 
chestnut-tree. 

Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a precipitate 
retreat ; fearing every moment to hear the enemy in pursuit. He 
succeeded, however, in returning unmolested to the shore, and 
determined to penetrate no farther into a country so beset with 
savao^e perils. 

He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on a wet stone. 
What was to be done ? where was he to shelter himself ? The 
hour of repose was approaching ; the birds were seeking their 
nests, the bat began to flit about in the twilight, and the night- 
hawk, soaring high in the heaven, seemed to be calling out the 
stars. Night gradually closed in, and wrapped every thing in 
gloom ; and though it was the latter part of summer, the breeze 
stealing along the river, and among these dripping forest^, was 
chilly and penetrating, especially to a half-drowned man. 

As he sat drooping and despondent in this comfortless condi- 
tion, he perceived a light gleaming through the trees near the 
shore, where the winding of the river made a deep bay.. It 
cheered him with the hope of a human habitation, where he might 
get something to appease the clamorous cravings of his stomach, 
and what was equally necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a 
comfortable shelter for the night. With extreme difficulty he made 
his way toward the light, along ledges of rocks, down which he 
was in danger of sliding into the river, and over great trunks of 
fallen trees ; some of which had been blown down in the late storm, 
and lay so thickly together, that he had to struggle tlirough their 
branches. At length he came to the brow of a rock overhanging 
a small dell, whence the light proceeded. It was from a fire at 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 431 



the foot of a great tree in the midst of a grassy interval or plat 
among the rocks. The fire cast up a red glare among the gray 
crags, and impending trees ; leaving chasms of deep gloom, that 
resembled entrances to caverns. A small brook rippled close by, 
betrayed by the quivering reflection of the flame. There were 
two figures moving about the fire, and others squatted before it. 
As they were between him and the light, they were in complete 
shadow; but one of them happening to move round to the (.ppo- 
site side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the ^^lare falling on 
painted features, and glittering on silver ornaments, that he was 
an Indian. He now looked more narrowly, and saw guns leaning 
against a tree, and a dead body lying on the ground. Here was 
the very foe that had fired at him from the glen. He endeavored 
to retreat quietly, not caring to intrust himself to these half-human 
beings in so savage and lonely a place. It was too late : the In- 
dian, with that eagle quickness of eye so remarkable in his race, 
perceived something stirring among the bushes on the rock : he 
seized one of the guns that leaned against the tree ; one moment 
more, and Dolph might have had his passion for adventure cured 
by a bullet. He hallooed loudly, with the Indian salutation of 
friendship : the whole party sprang upon their feet ; the saluta- 
tion was returned, and the straggler was invited to join them at 
the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, the party was 
composed of white men, as well as Indians. One, evidently the 
principal personage, or commander, was seated on a trunk of a 
tree b(^fore the fire. He was a large stout man, somewhat ad- 
vanced in life, but hale and hearty. His face was bronzed almost 
to the color of an Indian's ; he had strong but rather jovial fea- 
tures, an aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. His 



432 BRACE BRIDGE HALL. 



face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat, with a buck's tail 
in it. His gray hair hung short in his neck. He wore a hunting- 
frock, with Indian leggins, and moccasons, and a tomahawk in the 
broad wampum-belt round his waist. As Dolph caught a distinct 
view of his person and features, something reminded him of the 
old man of the haunted house. The man before him, however, 
was different in dress and age ; he was more cheery too in aspect, 
and it was hard to define where the vague resemblance lay ; but a 
resemblance there certainly was. Dolph felt some degree of awe 
in approaching him ; but was assured by a frank, hearty welcome. 
He was still further encouraged, by perceiving that the dead body, 
which had caused him some alarm, was that of a deer ; and his 
satisfaction was complete in discerning, by savory steams from a 
kettle, suspended by a hooked stick over the fire, that there was a 
part cooking for the evening's repast. 

He had, in fact, fallen in with a rambling hunting party ; such 
as often took place in those days among the settlers along the 
river. The hunter is always hospitable ; and nothing makes men 
Qiore social and unceremonious than meeting in the wilderness. 
The commander of the party poured out a dram of cheering 
hquor, which he gave him with a merry leer, to warm his heart ; 
and ordered one of his followers to fetch some garments from a 
pinnace, moored in a cove close by, while those in which our 
hero was dripping might be dried before the fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from the glen 
which had come so near giving him his quietus when on the pre- 
cipice, was from the party before him. He had nearly crushed 
one of them by the fragments of rock Avhich he had detached ; 
and the jovial old hunter, in the broad hat and buck-tail, had fired 
a^. the place where he saw the bushes move, supposing it to be 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 433 



some wild animal. He laughed heartily at the blunder ; it being 
what is considered an exceeding good joke among hunters ; " but 
faith, my lad," said he, "if I had but caught a glimpse of you to 
lake sight at, you would have followed the rock. Antony Vander 
Heyden is seldom known to miss his aim." These last words 
were at once a clue to Dolph's curie sity ; and a few questions let 
liim completely into the character of the man before him, and of 
his band of woodland rangers. The commander in the broad hat 
and hunting-frock was no less a personage than the Heer Antpny 
Vander Heyden, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a time 
heard. He was, in fact, the hero of many a story ; his singulai 
humors and whimsical habits, being matters of wonder to his quiet 
Dutch neighbors. As he was a man of property, having had a 
father before him, from whom he inherited large tracts of wild 
land, and whole barrels full of wampum, he could indulge his 
humors without control. Instead of staying quietly at home, eat^ 
ing and drinking at regular meal times, amusing himself by 
smoking his pipe on the bench before the door, and then turnin/'^ 
into a comfortable bed at night, he delighted in all kinds of rough, 
wild expeditions. Never so happy as when on a hunting party in 
the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark sheds, or cruising 
down the river, or on some woodland lake, fishing and fowling, 
and living the Lord knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian mode of 
life ; which he considered true natural liberty and manly enjoy- 
ment. When at home he had always several Indian hangers-on, 
who loitered about his house, sleeping like hounds in the sunshine ; 
or preparing hunting and fishing-tackle for some new expedition ; 
or shooting at marks with bows and arrows. 

Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had as perfect com- 

19 



.434 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



mand as a huntsman over his pack; though they were great 
luiisanees to the regular people of his neighborhood. As he was 
a i-ich man, no one ventured to thwart his humoi^s ; indeed, hi?? 
lu^artj, joyous manner made him universally popular. He would 
I roll a Dutch song as he tramped along the street; hail every one 
a mile off, and when he entered a house, would slap the good 
man familiarly on the back, shake him by the hand till he roared, 
and kiss his wife and daughter before his face — in short, there 
was no pride nor ill humor about Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or four humble 
friends among the white men, who looked up to him as a patron,, 
and had the run of his kitchen, and the favor of being taken with 
him occasionally on his expeditions. With a medley of such re- 
tainers he was at present on a cruise along the shores of the Hud- 
son, in a pinnace kept for his own recreation. There were two 
wlilte men with him, dressed partly in the Indian style, with raoc- 
ca?ons and hunting-shirts ; the rest of his crew consisted of four 
favorite Indians. They had been prowling about the river, with- 
ont any definite object, until they found themselves in the high- 
lands ; where they had passed two or three days, hunting the 
deer which still lingered among these mountains. 

" It is lucky for you, young man," said Antony Vander Hey- 
den, " that you happened to be knocked overboard to-day ; as to- 
moi-row morning we start early on our return homewards; and 
you might then have looked in vain for a meal among the moun- 
tain- — hut come, lads, stir about! stir about! Let's see what 
pros: we have for supper ; the kettle has boiled long enough ; my 
stomach cries cupboard ; and I'll warrant our guest is in no mood 
to dally with his trencher." 

There was ^ bustle now in the little encampment ; one took 



DOLPH HE^LIGER. 433 



off the kettle and turned a part of the contents into a huge 
wooden bowl. Another prepared a flat rock for a table ; while a 
third brought various utensils from the pinnace ; Heer Antony 
himself brought a flask or two of precious liquor from his own 
private locker ; knowing his boon companions too well to trust any 
of them with the key. 

A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; consisting of veni- 
son smoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, 
and mighty loaves of good brown household bread. Never had 
Dolph made a more delicious repast ; and when he had washed it 
down with two or three draughts from the Heer Antony's flask, 
and felt the jolly liquor sending its warmth through his veins, and 
glowing round his very heart, he would not have changed his 
situation, no, not with the governor of the province. 

The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joyous ; told half a 
dozen fat stories,- at which his white followers laughed immode- 
rately, though the Indians, as usual, maintained an invincible 
gravity. 

" This is your true life, my boy !" said he, slapping Dolph on 
the shoulder ; " a man is never a man till he can defy wind and 
weather, range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on 
bass-wood leaves !" 

And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch drinking 
song, swaying a short squab Dutch bottle in his hand, while his 
myrmidons would join in the chorus, until the woods echoed 
again ; — as the good old song has it, 

" They all with a shout made the elements ring 
So soon as the office was o'er ; 
To feasting they went, with true merriment 
And tippled strong liquor gillore." 



436 BRACEBRIDGE HALT.. 



In the midst of his joviality, however, Heer Antony did not 
lose sight of discretion. Though he pushed the bottle without 
reserve to Dolph, he always took care to help his followers him- 
self, knowing the beings he had to deal with ; and was particular 
in granting but a moderate allowance to the Indians. The repast 
being ended, the Indians having drunk their liquor, and smoked 
their pipes, now wrapped themselves in their blankets, stretched 
themselves on the ground, with their feet to the fire, and soon 
fell asleep, like so many tired hounds. The rest of the party 
remained chatting before the fire, which the gloom of the forest, 
and the dampness of the air from the late storm, rendered ex- 
tremely grateful and comforting. The conversation gradually 
moderated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned upon 
hunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the wilderness ; 
many of which were so strange and improbable, that I will not 
venture to repeat them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander 
Heyden and his comrades should be brought into question. There 
were many legendary tales told, also, about the river, and the 
settlements on its borders ; in which valuable kind of lore the 
Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As the sturdy bush-beater 
sat in a twisted root of a tree, that served him for an arm-chair, 
dealing forth these wild stories, with the fire gleaming on his 
strongly-marked visage, Dolph was again repeatedly perplexed 
by something that reminded him of the phantom of the haunted 
house ; some vague resemblance not to be fixed upon any precise 
feature or lineament, but pervading the general air of his counte- 
nance and figure. 

The circumstance of Dolph's fiilling overboard led to the 
relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that had be- 
fallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the earlier 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 437 



periods of colonial history ; most of which the Heer deliberately 
attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared at this sugges- 
tion ; but the old gentleman assured him it was very currently 
believed by the settlers along the river, that these highlands were 
under the dominion of supernatural and mischievous beings, 
which seemed to have taken some pique against the Dutch colo- 
nists in the early time of the settlement. In consequence of this, 
they have ever taken particular delight in venting their spleen, 
and indulging their humors, upon the Dutch skippers ; bothering 
them with flaws, head-winds, counter-currents, and all kinds of 
impediments ; insomuch, that a Dutch navigator was always 
obliged to be exceedingly wary and deliberate in his proceedings ; 
to come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in sail, 
whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling over the moun- 
tains ; in short, to take so many precautions, that he- was often 
apt to be an incredible time in toiling up the river. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the air 
to be evil spirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in the early 
times of the province, to revenge themselves on the strangers 
who had dispossessed them of their country. They even attri- 
buted to their incantations the misadventure which befell the 
renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailed so gallantly up this 
river in quest of a northwest passage, and, as he thought, ran his 
ship aground; which they affirm was nothing more nor less 
than a spell of these same wizards, to prevent his getting to 
China in this direction. 

The greater part, however, Heer Antony observed, accounted 
for all the extraordinary circumstances attending this river, and 
the perplexities of the skippers who navigated it, by the old 
legend of the Storm-ship which haunted Point-no-point. On 



438 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



finding Dolph to be utterly ignorant of this tradition, the Heei 
stared at him for a moment with surprise, and wondered where 
l>e had passed his life, to be uninformed on so important a point 
of history. To pass away the remainder of the evening, there- 
fore, he undertook the tale, as far as his memory would serve, in 
the very words in which it had been written out by Mynheer 
Selyne, an early poet of the New Nederlandts. Giving, then, a 
stir to the fire, that sent up its sparks among the trees like a little 
volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of a tree; 
and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a few mo- 
ments, to summon up his recollection, he related the following 
legend. 



THE STOUM-SHIP, 

In the golden age of the province of the New Netherlaiids, when 
under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the 
Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry 
afternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a tre- 
mendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain fell in such 
torrents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground* 
It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the Yevy roofs 
of the houses ; the lightning was seen to play about the church 
of St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its 
weather-cock. Garret Van Home's new chimney was split 
almost from top to bottom ; and Doffue Mildeberger ^vas struck 
speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into 
tov/n. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms, which 
only happen once within the memory of that venerable personage, 
known in all towns by the appellation of ^' the oldest inhabitant." 

Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhat- 
toes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in 
the cellars ; after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every 
bed-post, lest it should attract the lightning. At length the storm 
abated ; the thunder sank into a growl, and the setting sun, 
breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the 
broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gokh 

The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing 



440 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, 
and soon put the little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, 
in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast 
importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the 
Did world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so 
completely severed : to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their 
supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of neces- 
saries. The good vrouw could not have her new cap nor new 
gown until the arrival of the ship ; the artist waited for it for his 
tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands. 
the schoolboy for his top and marbles, and the lordly landholder 
for the bricks with which he was to build his new mansion. 
Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for 
the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the 
town of New Amsterdam ; and from one end of the year to the 
other, the ship — the ship — the ship — was the continual topic of 
conversation. 

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace 
down to the battery, to behold the wished-for sight. It was not 
exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and the 
circumstance was a matter of some speculation. Many were the 
groups collected about the battery. Here and there might be 
seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his 
opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle 
boys. At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fel- 
lows who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and were 
groat authorities on such occasions ; these gave different opinions, 
and caused great disputes among their several adherents: but the 
man most looked up to, and followed and watched by the crowd, 
was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea-captain retired from service. 



THE STORM-SHIP. 441 



the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through 
an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch 
tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Hans 
Yan Pelt, had always more weight with the public than a speech 
from another man. 

In the meantime the ship became more distinct to the naked 
eye ; she was a stout, round, Dutch-built vessel, with high bow 
and poop, and bearing Dutch colors. The evening sun gilded her 
bellying canvas, as she came riding over the long vaving billows. 
The sentinel who had given notice of her approach, declared, that 
he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay ; 
and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come 
out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The bystanders 
looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report : 
Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer together, and said 
nothing ; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrug- 
ged their shoulders. 

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and 
passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought 
to bear on her, and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans 
Yan Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot, 
seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the 
water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it ! What 
was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against 
wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans 
Yan Pelt, who was likewise harbor-master, ordered his boat, and 
set off to board her ; but after rowing two or three hours, he re- 
turned without success. Sometimes he would get within one or 
two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be 
half a mile off. vSome said it was because his oarsmen, who 

19* 



442 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now and ther 
to take breath, and spit on their hands ; but this it is probable 
was a mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the 
crew^ ; who were all dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in 
doublets and high hats and feathers ; not a word was spoken by 
any one on board ; they stood as motionless as so many statues, 
and the ship seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she 
kept on, aAvay up the river, lessening and lessening in the evening 
sunshine, until she faded from sight, like a little white cloud melt- 
ing aw^ay in the summer sky. 

The appearance of this ship threw the governor into one of 
the deepest doubts that ever beset him in the whole course of his 
administration. Fears were entertained for the security of the 
infant settlements on the river, lest this might be an enemy's sh^p 
in disguise, sent to take possession. The governor called together 
his council repeatedly to assist him wdth their conjectures. He 
sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the sacred forest of 
the Hague, smoking his long jasmin pipe, and listening to all that 
his counsellors had to say on a subject about which they knew 
nothing ; but in spite of all the conjecturing of the sagest and 
oldest heads, the governor still continued to doubt. 

Messengers were dispatched to different places on the river ; 
but they returned without any tidings — the ship had made no port. 
Day after day, and week after week, elapsed, but she never re- 
turned down the Hudson. As, however, the council seemed 
solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance. The captain^ 
of the sloops seldom arrived without bringing some report of 
having seen the strange ship at different parts of the river ; some- 
times near the Pallisadoes, sometimes off Croton Point, and some- 
times in the highlands ; but she never was reported as having 



THE STORM-SHIP. 44S 



been seen above the highlands. The crews of the sloops, ^'t is 
true, generally differed among themselves in their accounts of 
these apparitions ; but that may have arisen from the uncertain 
situations in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the jflashes 
of the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, and giving 
glimpses of her cai'eering across Tappaan Zee, or the wide waste 
of Haverstraw^ Bay. At one moment she w^ould appear close 
upon them, as if likely to run them down, and would *hrow them 
into great bustle and alarm ; but the next flash would sho^v her 
far off, ahvays sailing against the wdnd. Sometimes, in quiei 
moonlight nights, she w^ould be seen under some high bluff of the 
highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting her topsails glittering 
in the moonbeams ; by the time, how^ever, that the voyagers 
reached the place, no ship w^as to be seen ; and when they had 
passed on for some distance, and looked back, behold ! there she 
Was again, with her top-sails in the moonshine ! Her appearance 
was always just after, or just before, or just in the midst of un- 
ruly weather ; and she w^as known among the skippers and voy- 
agers of the Hudson by the name of " the storm-ship.'' 

These reports perplexed the governor and his council more 
than ever ; and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and 
opinions uttered on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of 
ships seen off the coast of New England, navigated by wilches 
and golilins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been more than once 
to the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this 
must be the flying Dutchman, which had so long haunted Table 
Bay ; but being unable to make port, had now sought another 
harbor. Others suggested, that if it really was a supernatural 
apparition, as there w^as every natural reason to believe, it might 
be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew of the Halfmoon; who, it was 



444 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



well known, had once run aground in the upper part of the river 
in seeking a north-west passage to China. This opinion had very 
little weight wnth the governor, but it passed current out of doors ; 
for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendriek Hudson 
and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain ; and it appeared 
very reasonable to suppose, that his ship might infest the river 
where the enterprise was baffled, or that it might bear the 
shadowy crew to their periodical revels in the mountain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and doubts of 
the sage Wouter and his council, and the storm-ship ceased to be 
a subject of deliberation at the board. It continued, however, a 
matter of popular belief and marvelous anecdote through the 
whole time of the Dutch government, and particularly just before 
the capture of New^ Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the pro- 
vince by the English squadron. About that time the storm-ship 
was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and about Weehawk, and 
even down as far as Hoboken ; and her appearance was supposed 
to be ominous of the approaching squall in public affairs, and the 
downfall of Dutch domination. 

Since Xhat time we have no authentic accounts of her ; though 
it is said she still haunts the highlands, and cruizes about Point- 
no-point. People who live along the river, insist that they same- 
times see her in summer moonlight ; and that in a deep still mid- 
night they have heard the chant of her crew, as if heaving the 
lead ; but sights and sounds are so deceptive along the mountain- 
ous shores, and about the w^ide bays and long reaches of this great 
river, that I confess I have very strong doubts upon the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have been seen 
in these highlands in storms, which are considered as connected 
with the old story of the ship. The captains of the river craft 



THE STORM-SHIP. 44S 



talk of a little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose and 
sugar-loafed hat, with a speaking trumpet in his hand, which they 
say keeps about the Dunderberg.* They declare that they have 
heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the turmoil, giving 
orders in low Dutch for the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or 
the rattling off of another thunder-clap. That sometimes he has 
been seen surrounded by a crew of little imps in broad oreeches 
and short doublets ; tumbling head over heels in the rack and 
mist, and playing a thousand gambols in the air ; or buzzing like 
a swarm of flies about Antony's nose ; and that, at such times, 
the hurry-scurry of the storm was always greatest. One time a 
sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder- 
gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst 
just over the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, she labored 
dreadfully, and the water came over the gunwale. All the crew 
were amazed, when it was discovered that there was a little white 
sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, known at once to be the. hat of 
the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, dared to climb 
to the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop con- 
tinued laboring and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast 
overboard, and seemed in continual danger either of upsetting or 
of running on shore. In this way she drove quite through the 
highlands, until she had passed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, 
the jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner 
had she passed this bourne, than the little hat spun up into the 
air like a top, whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurried 
them back to the summit of the Dunderberg ; while the sloop 
righted herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. 

* i. c. the " Thunder- Mountain," so called from its echoes. 



446 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Nothing saved her from utter wreck but the fortunate circum- 
stance of having a horse-shoe nailed against the mast; a wise 
precaution against evil spirits, since adopted by all the Dutch 
captains that navigate this haunted river. 

There is another story told of this foul-weather urchin, by 
Skipper Daniel Ouslesticker, of Fishkill, who was never known 
to tell a lie. He declared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him 
seated astride of his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full butt 
against Antony's nose, and that he was exorcised by Dominie 
Van Gieson, of Esopus, who happened to be on Jboard, and who 
sang the hymn of St. Nicholas ; whereupon the goblin threw him- 
self up in the air like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind, carry- 
ing away with him the nightcap of the Dominie's wife ; which 
was discovered the next Sunday morning hanging on the weather- 
cock of Esopus church steeple, at least forty miles off ! Several 
events of this kind having taken place, the regular skippers of 
the river, for a long time, did not venture to pass the Dunderberg, 
without lowering their peaks, out of homage to the Heer of the 
mountain ; and it was observed that all such as paid this tribute 
of respect were suffered to pass unmolested.* 

* Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies, during the early 
times of the settlements, there seems to have been a singular one about phan- 
tom ships. The superstitious fancies of men are always apt to turn upon those 
objects which concern their daily occupations. The solitary ship, which, from 
year to year, came likt; a raven in the wilderness bringing to the inhabitants 
of a settlement the comforts of life from the world from which they were cut 
off, was apt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping or waking. The 
accidental sight from shore of a sail gliding along the horizon in those, as yet 
lonely seas, was apt to be a matter of much talk and speculation. There is 
mention made in one of the early New England writers, of a ship navigated 
l)y witches, with a great horse that stood by the mainmast. I have met witl 



DOLPH HEYLIGER 447 



"Such," said Antony Yander Hejden, "are a few of the 
stones written down by Selyne the poet, concerning this storm- 
ship ; which he affirms to have brought a crew of mischievous imps 
into the province, from some old ghost-ridden country of Europe. 
i could give you a host more, if necessary ; for all the accidents 
that so often befall the river craft in the highlands are said to be 
tricks played off by these imps of the Dunderberg ; but I see that 
you are nodding, so let us turn in for the night.'^ — 

The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round 
back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and shagged 
forests, and glittered on the waving bosom of the river. The 
night dew was falling, and the late gloomy mountains began to 
soften and put on a gray aerial tint in the dewy light. The hun- 
ters stirred the fire, and threw on fresh fuel to qualify the damp 
of the night air. They then prepared a bed of branches and dry 
leaves under a ledge of rocks for Dolph ; while Antony Yander 
Heyden, wrapping himself in a huge coat of skins, stretched him- 
self before the fire. It was some time, however, before Dolph 
could close his eyes. He lay contemplating the strange scene 
before him : the wild woods and rocks around ; the fire throwing 
fitful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages ; and the Heer 

another story, somewhere, of a ship that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil 
weather, with sails all set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a num- 
ber of guests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships always 
sailed in the eye of the wind ; or ploughed their way with great velocity, 
making th-e smooth sea foam before their bow«, when not a breath of air was 
Rtirring. 

Moore has hnely wrought up one of these legends cf the sea into a little 
tale, which, within a small compass, contains the very essence of this species 
of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre-Ship, bound to Deadman'^ 
Isle. 



448 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely, reminded him of the 
nightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and then he heard 
the cry of some animal from the forest ; or the hooting of the 
owl ; or the notes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed to abound 
among these solitudes ; or the splash of a sturgeon, leaping out 
of the river, and falling back full length on its placid surface. 
He contrasted all this with his accustomed nest in the garret room 
ot the doctor's mansion ; where the only sounds at night were the 
church clock telling the hour ; the drowsy voice of the watchman, 
drawling out all was well ; the deep snoring of the doctor's club- 
bed nose from below stairs ; or the cautious labors of some carpen- 
ter rat gnawing in the wainscot. His thoughts then wandered to 
his poor old mother : what would she think of his mysterious dis- 
appearance — what anxiety and distress would she not suffer? 
This thought would continually intrude itself to mar his present 
enjoyment. It brought with it a feeling of pain and compunction, 
and he fell asleep with the tears yet standing in his eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a line opportu- 
nity for weaving in strange adventures among these wild moun- 
tains, and roving hunters ; and, after involving my hero in a 
variety of perils and difficulties, rescuing him from them all by 
some miraculous contrivance ; but as this is absolutely a true 
story, I must content myself with simple facts, and keep to pro- 
babilities. 

At an eai'ly hour of the next day, therefore, after a hearty 
morning's meal, the encampment broke up, and our adventurers 
embarked in the pinnace of Antony Yander Heyden. There 
being no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her gently along, 
keeping time to a kind of chant of one of the white men. The 
:lay was serene and beautiful ; the river without a wave ; and as 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 449 



fche vessel cleft the glassy water, it left a long, undulating track 
behind. The crows, who had scented the hunter's banquet, were 
already gathering and hovering in the air, just where a column of 
thin, blue smoke, rising from among the trees, showed the place 
of their last night's quarters. As they coasted along the basis of 
the mountains, the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald 
eagle, the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a dry 
tree that projected over the river ; and, with eye turned upwards, 
seemed to be drinking in the splendor of the morning sun. Their 
approach disturbed the monarch's meditations. He first spread 
one wing, and then the other ; balanced himself for a moment ; 
and then, quitting his perch with dignified composure, wheeled 
slowly over their heads. Dolph snatched up a gun, and sent a 
whistling ball after him, that cut some of the feathers from his 
wing ; the report of the gun leaped sharply from rock to rock, and 
awakened a thousand echoes ; but the monarch of the air sailed 
calmly on, ascending higher and higher, and wheeling widely as 
he ascended, soaring up the green bosom of the woody mountain, 
until he disappeared over the brow of a beetling precipice. 
Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this proud tranquillity, and 
almost reproached himself for having so wantonly insulted this 
majestic bird. Heer Antony told him, laughing, to remember 
that he was not yet out of the territories of the lord of the Dun- 
derberg ; and an old Indian shook his head, and observed, that 
there was bad luck in killing an eagle ; the hunter, on the con- 
trary, should always leave him a portion of his spoils. 

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on their voyage. 
They passed pleasantly through magnificent and lonely scenes, 
until they came to where Pollopol's Island lay, like a floating 
bower, at the extremity of the highlands. Here they landed, un- 



450 BRACr^BRIDGE HALL. 



til the heat of the day should abate, or a breeze spring up, that 
might supersede the labor of the oar. Some prepared the mid- 
day meal, while others reposed under the shade of the trees in 
luxurious summer indolence, looking drowsily^ forth upon the 
beauty of the scene. On the one side were the highlands, vast 
and cragged, feathered to the top with forests, and throwing their 
shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at their feet. On the 
ether side was a wide expanse of the river, like a broad lake, with 
long sunny reaches, and green headlands ; and the distant line of 
Shawungunk mountains waving along a clear horizon, or check 
ered by a fleecy cloud. 

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise along 
the river ; this vagrant, amphibious life, careering across silver 
sheets of water ; coasting wild woodland shores ; banqueting on 
shady promont^Dries, with the spreading tree over head, the river 
curling its light foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock, 
and tree, and snowy cloud, and deep blue sky, all mingling in 
summer beauty before one ; all this, though never cloying in the 
enjoyment, would be but tedious in narration. 

When encamped by the water-side, some of the party would 
go into the woods and hunt; others would fish: sometimes they 
would amuse themselves by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by 
running, by wrestling; and Dolph gained great favor in the eyes 
of Antony Vander Heyden, by his skill and adroitness in all these 
exercises ; which the Heer considered as the highest of manly 
accomplishments. 

Thus did they coast jollily on, (choosing only the pleasant 
hours for voyaging ; sometimes in the cool morning dawn, some- 
linw's in the sober evening twilight, and sometimes when the 
moonshine spangled the crisp curling waves that whispered along 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 451 



the sides of their little bark. Never had Dolph felt so completely 
in his element ; never had he met with any thing so completely 
to his taste as this wild, hap-hazard life. He was the very man 
to second Antony Yander Heyden in his rambling humors, and 
gained continually on his affections. The heart of the old bush- 
whacker yearned toward the young man, who seemed thus grow 
ing up in his own likeness ; and as they approached to the end 
of their voyage, he could not help inquiring a . little into his his- 
tory. Dolph frankly told him his course of life, his severe medi- 
cal studies, his little proficiency, and his very dubious prospects. 
The Heer was shocked to find that such amazing talents and ac- 
complishments were to be cramped and buried under a doctor's 
wig. He had a sovereign contempt for the healing art, having 
never had any other physician than the butcher. He bore a 
mortal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever since he had been 
flogged about an unintelligible book when he was a boy. But to 
think that a young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, 
who could shoot, fish, run, jump, ride, and wrestle, should be 
obliged to roll pills, and administer juleps for a living — 'twas 
monstrous ! He told Dolph never to despair, but to " throw 
physic to the dogs ;" for a young fellow of his prodigious talents 
could never fail to make his way. " As you seem to have no ac- 
quaintance in Albany,*' said Heer Antony, " you shall go home 
with me, and remain under my roof until you can look about you ; 
and in the meantime we can take an occasional bout at shooting 
and fishing, for it is a pity that such talents should lie idle." 

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard to be 
persuaded. Indeed, on turning over matters in his mind, which 
he did very sagely and deliberately, he could not but think that 
Antony Vander Heyden was, " somehow or other," connected with 



452 bracebr:dge hall. 



the story of the Haunted House ; that the misadventure in the 
liiglilands, which had thrown them so strangely together, was, 
'' somehow or other," to work out something good : in short, there 
is nothing so convenient as this "somehow or other" way of ac 
commodating one's self to circumstances ; it is the main stay of a 
heedless actor, and tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger ; and he 
who can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evil to anticipated 
good, possesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the philoso- 
pher's stone. 

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's companion 
seemed to cause universal satisfaction. Many were the greetings 
at the river-side, and the salutations in the streets ; the dogs 
bounded before him ; the boys w^hooped as he passed ; every body 
seemed to know Antony Vander Heyden. Dolph followed on in 
silence, admiring the neatness of this worthy burgh ; for in those 
days Albany was in all its glory, and inhabited almost exclusively 
by the descendants of the original Dutch settlers, not having as 
yet been discovered and colonized by the restless people of New- 
England. Every thing was quiet and orderly ; every thing was 
conducted calmly and leisurely ; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling 
and scrambling for existence. The grass grew about the un paved 
streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. Tall syca- 
moi-es or pendant willows shaded the houses, with caterpillars 
swinging, in long silken strings, from their branches ; or moths, 
fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transformation. 
The houses were built in the old Datch style, w^ith the gable ends 
tow anls the street. The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench 
before her door, in close-crimped cap, bright flowered gown, and 
white apron, busily employed in knitting. The husband smoked., 
bis pipe on the opposite bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated 



DOLPH HEYLIGEF. 453 



on the step at her mistress's feet, was industriously plying her nee- 
dle. The swallows sported about the eaves, or skimmed along 
the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their clamorous 
young ; and the little housekeeping wren flew in and out of a 
Lilliputian house, or an old hat nailed against the wall. The 
cows were coming home, lowing through the streets, to be milked 
at their owner's door ; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers^ 
some negro urchin, with a long goad, was gently urging them 
homewards. 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a tranquil nod 
from the burghers, and a friendly word from their wives ; all call- 
ing him familiarly by the name of Antony ; for it was the custom 
in this strong-hold of the patriarchs, where they had all grown up 
together from childhood, to call each other by the christian name. 
The Heer did not pause to have his usual jokes with them, for 
he was impatient to reach his home. At length they arrived at 
his mansion. It was of some magnitude, in the Dutch style, with 
large iron figures on the gables, that gave the date of its erection, 
and showed that it had been built in the earliest times of the set- 
tlement. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded him, and 
the whole household was on the look-out. A crew of negroes, 
large and small, had collected in front of the house to receive 
him. The old, white-headed ones, who had grown gray in his 
service, grinned for joy, and made many awkward bows and 
grimaces, and the little ones capered about his knees. But the 
most happy being in the household was a little, plump, blooming 
lass, his only child, and the darling of his heart. She came 
bounding out of the house ; but the sight of a strange young man 
with her father called up, for a moment, all the bashfulness of a 



454 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at her with wonder and de- 
light ; never had he seen, as he thought, any thing so comely in 
the shape of woman. She was dressed in the good old Dutch 
taste, with long stays, and full, short petticoats, so admirably 
adapted to show and set off the female form. Her hair, turned 
up under a small round cap, displayed the fairness of her fore- 
liead ; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes ; a trim, slender waist, 
and soft swell — but, in a word, she was a little Dutch divinity ; 
and Dolph, who never stopt half-way in a new impulse, fell des- 
perately in love with her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a hearty wel- 
come. In the interior was a mingled display of Heer Antony's 
taste and habits, and of the opulence of his predecessors. The 
chambers were furnished with good old mahogany ; the beaufets 
and cupboards glittered with embossed silver, and painted china. 
Over the parlor fireplace was, as usual, the family coat of arms, 
painted and framed ; above which was a long duck fowling-piece, 
lianked by an Indian pouch, and a powder-horn. The room was 
decorated with many Indian articles, such as pipes of peace, 
tomahawks, scalping-knives, hunting-pouches, and belts of wam- 
pum ; and there were various kinds of fishing-tackle, and two or 
three fowling-pieces in the corners. The household affairs seemed 
to be conducted, in some measure, after the master's humors ; cor- 
rected, perhaps, by a little quiet management of the daughter's. 
There was a great degree of patriarchal simplicity, and good- 
humored indulgence. The negroes came into the room without 
being called, merely to look at their master, and hear of his 
udventures; they would stand listening at the door until he ha<3 
finished a story, and then go off on a broad grin, to repeat it ir< 
the kitchen. A couple of pet negro children were playing abou< 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 455 

the floor with the dogs, and sharing with them their bread and 
butter. All the domestics looked hearty and happy ; and when 
the table was set for the evening repast, the variety and abun- 
dance of good household luxuries bore testimony to the open- 
handed liberality of the Heer, and the notable housewifery of his 
daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the worthies of 
the place, the Van E-ennsellaers, and the Gansevoorts, and the 
Rosebooms, and others of Antony Yander Heyden's intimates, to 
hear an account of his expedition ; for he was the Sindbad of 
Albany, and his exploits and adventures were favorite topics of 
conversation among the inhabitants. While these sat gossiping 
together about the door of the hall, and telling long twilight 
stories, Dolph was cozily seated, entertaining the daughter on a 
window-bench. He had already got on intimate terms ; for those 
were not times of false reserve and idle ceremony ; and, besides, 
there is something wonderfully propitious to a lover's suit, in the 
delightful dusk of a long summer evening ; it gives courage to 
the most timid tongue, and hides the blushes of the bashful. 
The stars alone twinkled brightly ; and now and then a firefly 
streamed his transient light before the window, or, wandering 
into the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. 

What Dolph whispered in her ear that long summer evening 
it is impossible to say : his words were so low and indistinct, that 
they never reached the ear of the historian. It is probable, how- 
ever, that they were to the purpose ; for he had a natural talent 
at pleasing the sex, and was never long in company with a petti- 
coat without paying proper court to it. In the meantime the 
visitors, one by one, departed ; Antony Yander Heyden, who had 
fairly talked himself silent, sat nodding alone in his chair by the 



156 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



door, when we was ruddenly aroused by a hearty salute with 
which Dolph Heyliger had unguardedly rounded off one of his 
periods, and which echoed through the still chamber like the 
report of a pistol. The Heer started up, rubbed his eyes, called 
for lights, and observed, that it was high time to go to bed ; 
though, on parting for the night, he squeezed Dolph heartily by 
the hand, looked kindly in his face, and shook his head know 
ingly ; for the Heer well remembered what he himself had been 
at the youngster's age. 

The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spacious, and 
paneled with oak. It was furnished w^th clothes-presses, and 
mighty chests of drawers, well waxed, and glittering with brass 
ornaments. These contained ample stock of family linen ; for 
the Dutch housewives had always a laudable pride in showing off 
their household treasures to strangers. 

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take particular note of 
the objects around him : yet he could not help continually com- 
paring the free, open-hearted cheeriness of this establishment, 
with the starveling, sordid, joyless housekeeping, at Doctor Knip- 
perhausen's. Still something marred the enjoyment ; the idea 
that he must take leave of his hearty host, and pretty hostess, and 
cast himself once more adrift upon the w^orld. To linger here 
would be folly: he should only get deeper in love: and for a 
poor varlet, like himself, to aspire to the daughter of the great 
Heer Vander Heyden — it was madness to think of such a thing 1 
The very kindness that the girl had shown towards him prompted 
liim, on reflection, to hasten his departure ; it would be a poor 
return for the frank hospitality of his host, to entangle his daugh- 
ter's heart in an injudicious attachment. In a word, Dolph was 
like many other young reasoners, of exceeding good hearts, and 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 45'/ 



gi id J heads ; who think after they act, and act differently from 
what they think ; who make excellent determinations over night, 
and forget to keep them the next morning. 

" This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voyage," said he, as 
he almost buried himself in a sumptuous feather-bed, and drew 
the fresh white sheets up to his chin. ^ Here am I, instead of 
(inding a bag of money to carry home, launched in a strange place, 
with scarcely a stiver in my pocket ; and, what is worse, have 
jum^ped ashore up to my very ears in love into the bargain. 
However," added he, after some pause, stretching himself, and 
turning himself in bed, " Tm in good quarters for the present, at 
least; so I'll e'en enjoy the present moment, and let the next take 
care of itself; I dare say all will work out, 'somehow or other,' 
for the best." 

As he said these words, he reached out his hand to extinguish 
the candle, when he was suddenly struck with astonishment and 
dismay, for he thought he beheld the phantom of the haunted 
house, staring on him from a dusky part of the chamber. A 
second look reassured him, as he perceived that what he had taken 
for the spectre was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish portrait, hang- 
ing in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes-press. It was, how- 
ever, the precise representation of his nightly visitor. The same 
cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzled beard and fixed eye, 
the same broad slouched hat, with a feather hanging over one 
side. Dolph now called to mind the resemblance he had fre- 
quently remarked between his host and the old man of the haunted 
house ; and was fully convinced they were in some way connected, 
and that some especial destiny had governed his voyage. He lay 
gazing on the portrait with almost as much awe as he had gazed 
on the ghostly original, until the shrill house-clock warned him of 

20 



458 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

the lateness of the hour. He put out the light ; but remained foi 
a lono- time turning over these curious circumstances and coinci- 
dences in his mind, until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of 
the nature of his waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay 
grazing on the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated; that 
the figure descended from the wall, and walked out of the room ; 
that he followed it, and found himself by the well, to which the 
old man pointed, smiled on him and disappeared. 

In the morning, when he waked, he found his host standing 
by his bedside, who gave him a hearty morning's salutation, and 
asked him how he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily ; but took 
occasion to inquire about the portrait that hung against the wall. 
" Ah," said Heer Antony, " that's a portrait of old Killian Yan- 
der Spiegel, once a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some 
popular troubles, abandoned Holland, and came over to the pro- 
vince during the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my 
ancestor by the mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon 
he was. When the English took possession of New Amster- 
dam, in 1GG4, he retired into the country. He fell into a melan- 
choly, apprehending that his wealth would be taken from him, and 
he come to beggary. He turned all his property into cash, and 
used to hide it awa}^ He was for a year or two concealed in 
various places, fancying himself sought after by the English, to 
strip him of his wealth ; and finally was found dead in his bed one 
morning, without any one being able to discover where he had i 
2oncealed the greater part of his money." mm 

When his host liad left the room, Dolph remained for some 
time lost in thought. His whole mind was occupied by what he 
had heard. Vander Spit^^gel was his mother's family name : and 
be recollected tQ have heard her speak of this very Killian Van- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 459 



der Spiegel as one of her ancestors. He had heard her say, too, 
that her father was Killian's rightful heir, only that the old man 
died without leaving any thing to be inherited. It now appeared 
that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir 
also, of this poor rich man ; and that thus the Heyligers and the 
Vander Heydens were remotely connected. "What," thought he, 
" if after all, this is the interpretation of my dream, that this is 
the way I am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, and 
that I am to find the old man's hidden wealth in the bottom of that 
well? But what an odd round about mode of communicating the 
matter ! Why the plague could not the old goblin have told me 
about the well at once, without sending me all the way to Albany, 
to hear a story that was to send me all the way back again ?" 

These thoughts passed through his mind while he was dress- 
ing. He descended the stairs, full of perplexity, when the bright 
face of Marie Vander Heyden suddenly beamed in smiles upon 
him, and seemed to give him a clue to the whole mystery. " After 
all/' thought he, " the old goblin is in the right. If I am to get 
his wealth, he means that I shall marry his pretty descendant j 
thus both branches of the family will be again united, and the 
property go on in the proper channel." 

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it carried con 
viction with it. He was now all impatience to hurry back and 
secure the treasure, which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of 
the well, and which he feared every moment might be discovered 
by some other person. " Who knows," thought he, " but this 
night-walking old fellow of the haunted house may be in the 
liabit of haunting every visitor, and may give a hint to some 
shrewder feUow than myself, who will take a shorter cut to the 
well than by the way of Albany ?" He wished a thousand times 



460 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



that the babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and his 
rambling portrait with him. He was in a perfect fever to depart. 
Two or three days elapsed before any opportunity presented for 
returning down the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwith- 
standing that he was basking in the smiles of the pretty Marie, 
and daily getting more and more enamored. 

At length the very sloop from which he had been knocked 
overboard, prepared to make sail. Dolph made an awkward 
apology to his host for his sudden departure. Antony Vander 
Hey den was sorely astonished. He had concerted half a dozen 
excursions into the wilderness ; and his Indians were actually 
preparing for a grand expedition to one of the lakes. He took 
Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence to get him to abandon all 
thoughts of business and to remain with him, but in vain ; and 
he at length gave up the attempt, observing, " that it was a thou- 
sand pities so fine a young man should throw himself away." 
Heer Antony, however, gave him a hearty shake by the hand at 
parting, with a favorite fowling-piece, and an invitation to come 
to his house w^henever he re-visited Albany. The pretty little 
Marie said nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her dim- 
pled cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They hoisted 
sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon lost sight of Albany, its green 
hills, and embowered islands. They were wafted gayly past the 
Knatskill mountains, whose fairy heights were bright and cloud- 
less. They passed prosperously through the highlands, without 
any molestation from the Dunderberg goblin and his crew ; they 
swept on across Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton Point, and 
tlu'ough the Tappaan Zee, and under the Pallisadoes, until, in 
the afternoon of the third day, they saw the promontory of Ho- 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 461 



boken, hanging like a cloud in the air ; and, shortly after, the 
roofs of the Manhattoes rising out of the water.' 

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's house ; for he 
was continually goaded by the idea of the uneasiness she must 
experience on his account. He was puzzling his brains, as he 
went along, to think how he should account for his absence, with- 
out betraying the secrets of the haunted house. In the midst of 
these cogitations, he entered the street in which his mother's 
house was situated, when he was thunderstruck at beholding it a 
heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which had destroyed 
several large houses, and the humble dwelling of poor Dame Hey- 
liger had been involved in the conflagration. The walls were not 
so completely destroyed, but that Dolph could distinguish some 
traces of the scene of his childhood. The fireplace, about which 
he had often played, still remained, ornamented with Dutch tiles, 
illustrating passages in Bible history, on which he had many a 
time gazed with admiration. Among the rubbish lay the wreck 
of the good dame's elbow-chair, from which she had given him. so 
many a wholesome precept ; and hard by it Avas the family Bible, 
with brass clasps ; now, alas 1 reduced almost to a cinder. 

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal sight, for 
he was seized with the fear that his mother had perished in the 
flames. He was relieved, however, from this horrible apprehen- 
sion, by one of the neighbors, who happened to come by and 
informed him that his mother was yet alive. 

The good woman had, indeed, lost every thing by this unlook- 
ed for calamity ; for the populace had beei\ so intent upon saving 
the fine furniture of her rich neighbors, that the little tenement, 
and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger, had been suffered to 



462 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



consume without interruption ; nay, had it not been for the gallant 
assistance of her old crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame 
and her cat might have shared the fate of their habitation. 

As it was, she had been overcome with fright and affliction, 
and lay ill in body and sick at heart. The public, however, had 
showed her its wonted kindness. The furniture of her nch neigh- 
bors being, as far as possible, rescued from the flames ; themselves 
duly and ceremoniously visited and condoled with on the injury 
of their property, and their ladies commiserated on the agitation 
of their nerves ; the public, at length, began to recollect some- 
thing about poor Dame Heyliger. She forthwith became again 
a subject of universal sympathy ; every body pitied her more 
than ever ; and if pity could but have been coined into cash — 
good Lord ! how rich she would have been ! 

It was now determined, in good earnest, that something 
ought to be done for her without delay. The Dominie, therefore, 
put up prayers for her on Sunday, in which all the congregation 
joined most heartily. Even Cobus Groesbeek, the alderman, and 
Mynheer Milledollar, the great Dutch merchant, stood up in their 
pews, and did not spare their voices on the occasion ; and it was 
thought the prayers of such great men gould not but have their 
due weight. Doctor Knipperhausen, too, visited her professional- 
ly, and gave her abundance of advice gratis, and was universally 
lauded for his charity. As to her old friend, Peter de Groodt, he 
was a poor man, whose pity, and prayers, and advice, could be of 
but little avail, so he gave her all that was in his power — he gave 
her shelter. 

To tlie humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did Dolph 
uirn his steps. On his way thither, he recalled all the tenderness 
and kindness of his simple-hearted parent, her indulgence of his 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 463 



errors, lier blindness to his faults ; and then he bethought himself 
of his own idle, harum-scarum life. " Fve been a sad scapegrace," 
said Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully. " IVe been a complete 
sink-pocket, that's the truth of it ! — But," added he briskl}^, and 
clasping his hands, " only let her live — only let her live — and 
I'll show myself indeed a son !" 

As Dolph approached the house he met Peter de Groodt 
coming out of it. The old man started back aghast, doubling 
whether it was not a ghost that stood before him. It being bright 
daylight, however, Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied that no 
ghost dare show his face in such clear sunshine. Dolph now 
learned from the worthy sexton the consternation and rumor to 
which his mysterious disappearance had given rise. It had been 
universally believed that he had been spirited away by those hob- 
goblin gentry that infested the haunted house ; and old Abraham 
Vandozer, who lived by the great buttonwood trees, near the 
three-mile stone, affirmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in 
the air, as he was going home late at night, which seemed just as 
if a flock of wild-geese were overhead, passing off towards the 
northward. The haunted house was, in consequence, looked upon 
with ten times more awe than ever; nobody would venture to 
pass a night in it for the world, and even the doctor had ceased 
to make his expeditions to it in the daytime. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's return could be 
made known to his mother, the poor soul having bewailed him as 
lost ; and her spirits having been sorely bix)ken down by a num- 
ber of comforters, who daily cheered her with stories of ghosts^ 
and of people carried away by the devil. . lie found her confined 
to her bed, with the other member of the Heyliger family, the 
good dame's cat, purring beside her, but sadly singed, and utterly 



464 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



despoiled of those whiskers which were the glory of her physi- 
ognomy. The poor woman threw her arms about Dolph's neck : 
" My boy ! my boy ! art thou still alive ?" For a time she seemed 
to have forgotten all her losses and troubles in her joy at his 
return. Even the sage grimalkin showed indubitable signs of 
joy at the return of the youngster. She saw, perhaps, that they 
were a forlorn and undone family, and felt a touch of that kind- 
liness which fellow-sufferers only know. But, m truth, cats are 
a slandered people ; they have more affection in them than the 
world commonly gives them credit for. 

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one being, at lea^t, 
beside herself, rejoiced at her son's ^-eturn. " Tib knows thee ! 
poor dumb beast !" said she, smoothing down the mottled coat of 
her favorite ; then recollecting herself, with a melancholy shake 
of the head, " Ah, my poor Dolph !" exclaimed she, " thy mother 
can help thee no longer ! She can no longer help herself ! What 
will become of thee, my poor boy !'' 

" Mother," said Dolph, " don't talk in that strain ; I've been too 
long a charge upon you ; it's now my part to take care of you in 
your old days. Come ! be of good heart ! you, and I, and Tib 
will all see better days. I'm here, you see, young, and sound, 
and hearty ; then don't let us despair ; I dare say things will all, 
somehow or other, turn out for the best." 

While this scene was going on with the Heyliger family, the 
news was carried to Doctor Knipperhausen, of the safe return of 
his disciple. The little doctor scarce knew whether to rejoice or 
be sorry at the tidings. He was happy at having the foul reports 
which had prevailed concerning his country mansion thus dis 
proved ; but he grieved at having his disciple, of whom he had 
supposed himself fairly disencumbered, thus drifting back, ? 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 46A 



heavy charge upon his hands. While balancing between these 
two feelings, he was determined by the counsels of Frau Ilsy, who 
advised him to take advantage of the truant absence of the 
youngster, and shut the door upon him for ever. 

At the hour of bed-time, therefore, when it was supposed the 
recreant disciple would seek his old quarters, every thing was 
prepared for his reception. Dolph, having talked his mother into 
a state of tranquillity, sought the mansion of his quondam master, 
and raised the knocker with a faltering hand. Scarcely, however, 
had it given a dubious rap, when the doctor's head, in a red 
night-cap, popped out of one window, and the housekeeper's, in a 
white night-cap, out of another. He was now greeted with a 
tremendous volley of hard names and hard language, mingled 
with invaluable pieces of advice, such as are seldom ventured to 
be given excepting to a friend in distress, or a culprit at the bar. 
In a few moments, not a window in the street but had its particu- 
lar night-cap, listening to the shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, and the 
guttural croaking of Dr. Knipperhausen ; and the word went 
from window to window, " Ah ! here's Dolph Heyliger come 
back, and at his old pranks again." In short, poor Dolph found 
he was likely to get nothing from the doctor but good advice ; a 
commodity so abundant as even to be thrown out of the window ; 
so he was fain to beat a retreat, and take up his quarters for the 
night under the lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt. 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was out at the 
haunted house. Every thing looked just as he had left it. The 
fields were grass-grown and matted, and appeared as if nobody 
had traversed them since his departure. With palpitating heart 
he hastened to the well. He looked down into it, and saw that it 
was of great depth, with water at the bottom. He had provided 

20* 



466 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



himself with a strong line, such as the fishermen use on the banks 
of Newfoundland. At the end was a heavy plummet and a large 
fish-hook. With this he began to sound the bottom of the well, 
and to angle about*in the water. The water was of some depth; 
there was also much rubbish, stones from the top having fallen in. 
Several times his hook got entangled, and he came neai breaking 
his line. Now and then, too, he hauled up mere trash, such as 
the skull of a horse, an iron hoop, and a shattered iron-bound 
bucket. He had now been several hours employed without find- 
ing any thing to repay his trouble, or to encourage him to pro- 
ceed. He began to think himself a great fool, to be thus decoyed 
into a wild-goose-chase by mere dreams, and was on the point of 
throwing line and all into the well, and giving up all further 
anfflinor. 

" One more cast of the line,'* said he, " and that shall be the 
last." As he sounded, he felt the plummet slip, as it were, through 
the interstices of loose stones ; and as he drew back the line, he 
felt that the hook had taken hold of something heavy. He had 
to manage his line with great caution, lest it should be broken by 
the strain upon it. By degrees the rubbish which lay upon the 
article he had hooked gave way ; he drew it to the surface of the 
water, and what was his rapture at seeing something like silver 
glittering at the end of his line ! Almost breathless with anxiety, 
he drew it up to the mouth of the well, surprised at its great 
weight, and fearing every instant that his hook would slip from 
its hold, and his prize tumble again to the bottom. At length he 
landed it safe beside the well. It was a great silver porringer, 
of an ancient form, richly embossed, and with armorial beai^ings 
engraved on its side, similar to those over his mother's mantel- 
piece. The lid was fastened down by several twists of wire ; 



DOLPH HEY-LIGER. 467 



Dolph loosened them with a trembling hand, and, on lifting the 
lid, behold ! the vessel was filled with broad golden pieces, of a 
coinage which he had never seen before ! It was evident he had 
lit on the place w^here Killian Yander Spiegel had concealed his 
treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cautiously retired, 
and buried his pot of money in a secret place. He now spread 
terrible stories about the haunted house, and deterred every one 
from approaching it, while he made frequent visits to it .n stormy 
days, when no one was stirring in the neighboring fields ; though, 
to tell the truth, he did not care to venture there in the dark. 
For once in his life he was diligent and industrious, and followed 
up his new trade of angling with such perseverance and success, 
that in a little w^hile he had hooked up wealth enough to make 
him, in those moderate days, a rich burgher for life. 

It would be tedious to detail minutely the rest of this story. 
To tell how he gradually managed to bring his property into use 
without exciting surprise and inquiry — ^how he satisfied all scru- 
ples with regard to retaining the property, and at the same time 
gratified his own feelings, by marrying the pretty Marie Vander 
Heyden — and how he and Heer Antony had many a merry and 
roving expedition together. 

I must not omit to say, however, that Dolph took his mother 
home to live with him, and cherished her in her old days. The 
good dame, too, had the satisfaction of no longer hearing her son 
made the theme of censure ; on the contrary, he grew daily in 
public esteem ; every body spoke well of him and his wines : and 
the lordliest burgomaster was never known to decline his invitation 
to dinner. Dolph often related, at his own table, the wicked pranks 
which had once been the abhorrence of the town ; but they were 



468 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



now considered excellent jokes, and the gravest dignitary was 
fain to hold his sides when listening to them. No one was more 
struck with Dolph's increasing merit than his old master the doc- 
tor ; and so forgiving was Dolph, that he absolutely employed the 
doctor as his family physician, only taking care that his prescrip- 
tions should be always thrown out of the window. His mother 
had often her junto of old cronies to take a snug cup of tea with 
her in her comfortable little parlor ; and Peter de Groodt, as he 
sat by the fireside, with one of her grandchildren on his knee, 
would many a time congratulate her upon her son turning out so 
great a man ; upon which the good old soul would wag her head 
with exultation, and exclaim, " Ah, neighbor, neighbor ! did I not 
say that Dolph would one day or other hold up his head with the 
best of them ?" 

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and prosperously, 
growing merrier as he grew older and wiser, and completely falsi- 
fying the old proverb about money got over the devil's back ; for 
he made good use of his wealth, and became a distinguished citi- 
zen, and a valuable member of the community. He was a great 
promoter of public institutions, such as beef-steak societies and 
catch-clubs. He presided at all public dinners, and was the first 
that introduced turtle from the West Indies. He improved the 
breed of race-horses and game-cocks, and was so great a patron 
of modest merit, that any one who could sing a good song, or tell 
a good story, was sure to find a place at his table. 

He was a member, too, of the corporation, made several laws 
for the protection of game and oysters, and bequeathed to the 
board a large silver punch-bowl, made out of the identical porrin- 
ger before mentioned, and which is in the possession of the cor- 
poration to this very day. 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 46ft 



Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apoplexy at a cor 
poration feast, and was buried with great honors in the yard of 
the little Dutch church in Garden-street, where his tombstone 
may still be seen, with a modest epitaph in Dutch, by his friend 
Mynheer Justus Benson, an ancient and excellent poet of the 
province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than most tales of 
the kind, as I have it at second hand from the lips of Dolf h Hey- 
liger himself. He never related it till towards the latter part of 
his life, and then in great confidence, (for he was very discreet,) 
to a few of his particular cronies at his own table, over a super- 
numerary bowl of punch ; and, strange as the hobgoblin parts of 
the story may seem, there never was a single doubt expressed on 
the subject by any of his guests. It may not be amiss, before 
concluding, to observe that, in addition to his other accomplish- 
ments, Dolph Heyliger was noted for being the ablest drawer of 
the long-bow in the whole province. 



THE WEDDING. 

No more, no more, much honor aye betide 
The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride ; 
That all of their succeeding days may say, 
Each day ajipears like to a wedding day. 

Braithwaits. 

NoTAViTHSTANiviNG the doubts and demurs of Lady Lillycraft, 
and all the grave objections conjured up against the month of 
May, the wedding has at length happily taken place. It was 
celebrated at the village church, in presence of a numerous com- 
pany of relatives and friends, and many of the tenantry. The 
Squire must needs have something of the old ceremonies observed 
on the occasion ; so at the gate of the church-yard, several little 
girls of the village, dressed in white, were in readiness with bas- 
kets of flowers, which they strewed before the bride ; and the 
butler bore before her the bride-cup, a great silver embossed 
bowl, one of the family relics from the days of the hard drinkers. 
This was filled with rich wine, and decorated with a branch of 
rosemary, tied with gay ribbons, according to ancient custom. 

" Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says the old 
proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious a morning as heart 
could wish. The bride looked uncommonly beautiful ; but, in 
fact, what woman does not look interesting on her wedding day? 
I know no sight more charming and touching than that of a young 
and timid bride, in her robes of virgin white, led up trembling to 



i72 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



the altar. When I thus behold a lovely girl, in the tenderness 
of her years, forsaking the house of her fathers, and the home 
of her childhood ; and with the implicit confiding, and the sweet 
self-abandonment, Avhich belong to woman, giving up all the warld 
for the man of her choice : when I hear her, in the good old lan- 
guage of the ritual, yielding herself to him, " for better for worse, 
for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and 
obey, till death us do part," it brings to my mind the beautiful 
and affecting self-devotion of Ruth : *' Whither thou goest I will 
go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy people shall be my 
people, and thy God my God." 

The fair Julia was supported on the trying occasion by Lady 
Lillycraft, whose heart was overflowing with its wonted sympathy 
in all matters of love and matrimony. As the bride approached 
the altar, her face would be one moment covered with blushes, 
and the next deadly pale ; and she seemed almost ready to shrink 
from sight among her female companions. 

I do not know what it is that makes every one serious, and, as 
it were, awe-struck, at a marriage ceremony ; w^hich is generally 
considered an occasion of festivity and rejoicing. As the cere- 
mony was performing, I observed many a rosy face among the 
country girls turn pale, and I did not see a smile throughout the 
church. Tlie young ladies from the Hall were almost as much 
frightened as if it had been their own case, and stole many a look 
of sympathy at their trembling companion. A tear stood in the 
eye of the sensitive Lady Lillycraft ; and as to Phoebe Wilkins, 
who was present, she absolutely wept and sobbed aloud ; but it is 
hard to tell, half the time, what these fond foolish creatures are 
crying about. 

The captain, too, though naturally gay and unconcerned, was 



THE WEDDING. 473 



much agitated on the occasion ; and, in attempting to put the ring 
dpon the bride's finger, dropped it on the floor ; which Lady Lilly- 
craft has since assured me is a very lucky omen. Even Master 
Simon had lost his usual vivacity, and assumed a most whimsically 
solemn face, which he is apt to do on all occasions of ceremony. 
He had much whispering with the parson and parish-clerk, for he 
is always a busy personage in the scene, and he echoed the clerk's 
amen with a solemnity and devotion that edified the whole assem- 
blage. 

The moment, however, that the ceremony was over, the tran- 
sition w^as magical. The bride-cup was passed round, according 
to ancient usage, for the company to drink to a happy union ; 
every one's feelings seemed to break forth from restraint. Mas- 
ter Simon had a world of bachelor pleasantries to utter, and as to 
the gallant general, he bowed and cooed about the dulcet Lady 
Lillycraft, like a mighty cock-pigeon about his dame. 

The villagers gathered in the church-yard to cheer the happy 
couple as they left the church ; and the musical tailor had mar- 
shaled his band, and set up a hideous discord, as the blushing and 
smiling bride passed through a lane of honest peasantry to her 
carriage. The children shouted and threw up their hats ; the bells 
rang a merry peal that set all the crows and rooks flying and caw- 
ing about the air, and threatened to bring down the battlements 
of the old tower ; and there was a continual popping off of rusty 
firelocks from every part of the neighborhood. 

The prodigal son distinguished himself on the occasion, having 
lioisted a flag on the top of the Sv?hool-house, and kept tlie village 
in a hubbub from sunrise, with the sound of drum and fife and 
pandean pipe ; in which species of music several of his scholars 
are making wonderful proficiency. In his great zeal, liowever, he 



474 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



had nearly done mischief; for on returning from church, the horsess 
of the bride's carriage took fright from the discharge of a roAv of 
old gun-barrels, which he had mounted as a park of artillery in 
front of the school-house, to give the captain a military salute as 
he passed. - 

The day passed off with great rustic rejoicing. Tables were 
spread under the trees in the park, where all the peasantry of the 
neighborhood were regaled with roast-beef and plum-pudding, and 
oceajs of ale. Ready -Money Jack presided at one of the tables, 
and became so full of good cheer, as to unbend from his usual gravity, 
to sing a song out of all tune, and give two or three shouts of 
laughter, that almost electrified his neighbors, like so many peals 
of thunder. The schoolmaster and the apothecary vied with each 
other in making speeches over their liquor ; and there were occa- 
sional glees and musical performances by the village band, that 
must have frightened every faun and dryad from the park. 
Even old Christy, who had got on a new dress, from top to toe, 
and shone in all the splendor of bright leather-breeches, and an 
enormous wedding favor in his cap, forgot his usual crustiness, 
became inspired by wine and wassail, and absolutely danced a 
hornpipe on one of the tables, with all the grace and agility of a 
mannikin hung upon wires. 

Equal gayety reigned within doors, where a large party of 
friends were entertained. Every one laughed at his own plea- 
santry, without attending to that of his neighbor's. Loads of bride- 
cake were distributed. The young ladies were all busy in pass- 
ing morsels of it through the wedding-ring to dream on, and I 
myself assisted a little boarding-school girl in putting up a quan- 
tity for her companions, which I have no doubt v*^ill set all the 
little heads in the school gadding, for a week at least. 



THE WEDDING. 4T5 



After dinner all the company, great and small, gentle and sim- 
ple, abandoned themselves to the dance : not the modern quadrille, 
with its graceful gravity, but the merry, social, old country dance ; 
tlie true dance, as the Squire says, for a wedding occasion, as it 
sets all the world jigging in couples, hand in hand, and makes 
every eye and every heart dance merrily to the music. According to 
frank old usage, the gentlefolks of the Hall mingled for a time in 
the dance of the peasantry, who had a great tent erected for a 
ball-room ; and I think I never saw Master Simon more in his ele- 
ment than when figuring about among his rustic admirers, as mas- 
ter of the ceremonies ; and with a mingled air of protection and 
gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen of May, all blushing at 
the signal honor conferred upon her. 

In the evening the w^hole village was illuminated, excepting 
the house of the radical, who has not shown his face during the re- 
joicings. There was a display of fireworks at the school-house, 
got up by the prodigal son, which had well nigh set fire to the 
building. The Squire is so much pleased with the extraordinary 
services of this last-mentioned worthy, that he talks of enrolling 
him in Ids list of valuable retainers, and promoting him to some 
important post on the estate ; peradventure to be falconer, if the 
hawks can ever be brought into proper training. 

There is a well-known old proverb, which says " one wedding 
makes many," — or something to the same purpose ; and I should 
not be surprised if it holds good in the present instance. I 
have seen several flirtations among the young people brought 
together on this occasion ; and a great deal of strolling about in 
pairs, among the retired walks and blossoming shrubberies of the 
old garden : and if groves were really given to whispering, as poets 
would fain make us believe, Heaven knows what love-tales the 



47C BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



grave-looking old trees about this venerable country-seat might 
blab to the world. 

The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his devotions 
within the last few days, as the time of her ladyship's departure 
approaches. I observed him casting many a tender look at her 
during the wedding dinner, while the courses w^ere changing ; 
though he was always liable to be interrupted in his adoration by 
the appearance of any new delicacy. The general, in fact, nas ar- 
rived at that time of life, when the heart and the stomach maintain 
a kind of balance of power, and when a man is apt to be perplexed 
in his affections between a fine woman and a truffled turkey. Her 
ladyship was certainly rivaled through the whole of the first 
course by a dish of stewed carp ; and there was one glance, which 
was evidently intended to be a point-blank shot at her heart, and 
could scarcely have failed to effect a practicable breach, had it 
not unluckily been directed away to a tempting breast of lamb, in 
which it immediately produced a formidable incision. 

Thus did this faithless general go on, coquetting during the 
whole dinner, and committing an infidelity with every new dish ; un- 
til, in the end, he was so overpowered by the attentions he had paid 
to fish, flesh, and fowl ; to pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc-mange, 
that he seemed to sink within himself: his eyes swam beneath 
their lids, and their fire was so much slackened, that he could no 
longer discharge a single glance that would reach across the table. 
Upon the whole, I fear the general ate himself into as much dis- 
grace, at this memorable dinner, as I have seen him sleep himself 
into on a former occasion. 

T am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was so touched^* > 
f'V the wedding ceremony, at which he was present, and so capti- 
vated by the sensibility of poor Phoebe Wilkins. who certainly 



THE WEDDING. 477 



looked all the better for her tears, that he had a reconciliation 
with her that very day after dinner, in one of the groves of the 
park, and danced with her in the evening ; to the complete con- 
fusion of all Dame Tibbets' domestic politics. I met them walk- 
ing together in the park, shortly after the reconciliation must have 
taken place. Young Jack carried himself gayly and manfully ; 
but Phoebe hung her head, blushing, as I approached. However, 
just as she passed me, and dropped a courtesy, I caught a shy 
gleam of her eye from under her bonnet ; but it was immediately 
cast down again. I saw enough in that single gleam, and in an 
involuntary smile dimpling about her rosy lips, to feel satisfied 
that the little gipsy's heart was happy again. 

What is more. Lady Lillycraft, with her usual benevolence 
and zeal in all matters of this tender nature, on hearing of the 
reconciliation of the lovers, undertook the critical task of break- 
ing the matter to Ready-Money Jack. She thought there was 
no time like the present, and attacked the sturdy old yeoman that 
very evening in the park, while his heart was yet lifted up with 
the Squire's good cheer. Jack was a little surprised at being 
drawn aside by her ladyship, but was not to be flurried by such 
an honor : he was still more surprised by the nature of her com- 
munication, and by this first intelligence of an affair that had 
been passing under his eye. He listened, however, with his usual 
gravity, as her ladyship represented the advantages of the match, 
the good qualities of the girl, and the distress which she had 
lately suffered : at length his eye began to kindle, and his hand 
to play with the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw that 
something in the narrative had gone wrong, and hastened to mol- 
lify his rising ire by reiterating the soft-hearted Phoebe's merit 
and fidelity, and her great unhappiness ; when old Ready-Money 



478 BRACEBRIDGE HALL 

suddenly interrupted her by exclaiming, that if Jack did not marry 
the wench, he'd break every bone in his body! The match, 
therefore, is considered a settled thing : Dame Tibbets and the 
houc^ekeeper have made friends, and drunk tea together, and 
Phoebe has again recovered her good looks and good spirits, and 
is caroling from morning till night like a lark. 

But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one nat 1 should 
be almost afraid to mention, did I not know that I was writing 
for readers well experienced in the waywardness of this most 
mischievous deity. The morning after the wedding, therefore, 
while Lady Lillycraft was making preparations for her departure, 
an audience was requested by her immaculate handmaid, Mrs. 
Hannah, who, with much primming of the mouth, and many 
maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay behind, and that 
Lady Lillycraft would supply her place with some other servant. 
Her ladyship was astonished : " What ! Hannah going to quit her, 
that had lived with her so long !" 

'' Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in life some 
time or other." 

The good lady was still lost in amazement; at length the 
secret was gasped from the dry lips of the maiden gentlewoman : 
*' She had been some time thinking of changing her condition, and 
at length had given her word, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the 
huntsman." 

How, or when, or where this singular courtship had been 
carried on, I have not been able to learn ; nor how she has been 
able, with the vinegar of her disposition, to soften the stony heart 
of old Ninirod : so, however, it is, and it has astonished every 
one. With all her ladyship's love of match-making, this last 
fume of Hymen's torch has been too much for her. She has 



a 



THE WEDDING. 479 



endeavored to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but all in vain ; hei 
mind Avas made up, and she grew tart on the least contradiction. 
Lady Lillycraft applied to the Squire for his interference. " She 
did not know what she should do without Mrs. Hannah, she 
had been used to have her about her so long a time." 

The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as reliev- 
ing the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under whose sway 
she had suffered for years. Instead of thwarting the affair, there- 
fore, he has given it his full countenance ; and declares that he 
will set up the young couple in one of the best cottages on his 
estate. The approbation of the Squire has been followed by that 
of the whole household ; they all declare, that if ever matches are 
really made in heaven, this must have been ; for that old Christy 
and Mrs. Hannah were as evidently formed to be linked together, 
as ever were pepper-box and vinegar-cruet. 

As soon as this matter was arranged. Lady Lillycraft took 
her leave of the family at the Hall ; talking with her the captain 
and iiis blushing bride, who are to pass the honeymoon with her. 
Master Simon accompanied them on horseback, and indeed means 
to ride on ahead to make preparations. The general, who was 
fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat, handed her ladyship 
into her carriage with a heavy sigh ; upon which his bosom 
friend, Master Simon, who was just mounting his horse, gave me 
a knowing wink, made an abominably wry face, and leaning from 
his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, " It won't do !" Then 
putting spurs to his horse, away he cantered off. The general 
stood for some time waving his hat after the carriage as it rolled 
down the avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, 
from exposing his head to the cool breeze. I observed that he 
returned rather thoughtfully to the l^puse ; whistling softly to 



480 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



Iiimself, with his hands behind his back, and an exceedingly 
dubious air. 

The company have now almost all taken their departure ; I 
have determined to do the same to-morrow morning ; and I hope 
my reader may not think that I have already lingered too long 
at the Hall. I have been tempted to do so, however, because I 
thought I had lit upon one of tlie retired places where there are 
yet some traces to be met with of old English character. A little 
while hence, and all these will probably have passed away. 
Ready-Money Jack will sleep with his fathers : the good Squire, 
and all his peculiarities, w^ill be buried in the neighboring church. 
The old Hall will be modernized into a fashionable country-seat, 
or, peradventure, a manufactory. The park wnll be cut up into 
petty farms and kitchen-gardens. A daily coach will run through 
the village ; it will become, like all other commonplace villages, 
thronged with coachmen, post-boys, tipplers and politicians : and 
Christmas, May-day, and all the other hearty merry-makings of 
the ** good old times," will be forgotten. 



THE AUTHOR'S PAREWELL. 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part. 

Hamlet. 

Having taken leave of the Hair and its inmates, and brought 
the history of my visit to something like a close, there seems to 
remain nothing further than to make my bow, and exit. It is 
my foible, however, to get on such companionable terms with my 
reader in the course of a work, that it really costs me some pain 
to part with him, and I am apt to keep him by the hand, and 
have a few farewell words at the end of my last volume. 

When I cast an eye back upon the work I am just concluding, 
I cannot but be sensible how full it must be of errors and imper- 
fections ; indeed, how should it be otherwise, writing as I do, 
about subjects and scenes with which, as a stranger, I am but 
partially acquainted? Many will, doubtless, find cause to smile 
at very obvious blunders which I may have made ; and many 
may, perhaps, be offended at what they may conceive prejudiced 
representations. Some will think I might have said much more 
on such subjects as may suit their peculiar tastes : whilst others 
will think I had done wiser to have left those subjects entirely 
alone. 

It will pr/)bably l)e said, too, by some, that I view England 

21 



482 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



with a partial eye. Perhaps I do : for I can never forget that it 
is my " father land." And yet the circumstances under which I 
have viewed it have by no means been such as were calculated to 
produce favorable impressions. For the greater part of the time 
that I have resided in it, I have lived almost unknowing and un- 
known ; seeking no favors and receiving none : " a stranger and 
a sojourner in the land/' and subject to all the chills and neglects 
that are the common lot of the stranger. 

When I consider these circumstances, and recollect how^ often 
I have taken up my pen, with a mind ill at ease, and spirits much 
dejected and cast down : I cannot but think I was not likely to 
err on the favorable side of the picture. The opinions I have 
given of English character have been the result 'of much quiet, 
dispassionate, and varied observation. It is a character, not to be 
hastily studied, for it always puts on a repulsive and ungracious 
aspect to a stranger. Let those, then, who condemn my repre- 
sentations as too favorable, observe this people as closely and 
deliberately as I have done, and they will, probably, change their 
opinion. Of one thing, at any rate, I am certain, that I have spo- 
ken honestly and sincerely, from the convictions of my mind, and 
the dictates of my heart. When I first published my former 
writings, it was with no hope of gaining favor in English eyes, for 
I little thought they were to become current out of my own coun- 
try : and had I merely sought popularity among my own country- 
men, I should have taken a more direct and obvious way, by 
gratifying rather than rebuking the angry feelings then prevalent 
against EngUind. 

And here let me acknowledge my warm, my thankful feelings, 
at the effect produced by one of my trivial lucubrations. I allude 
to the essay in the Sketch Book, on the subject of the literary 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 483 



feuds between England and America. I cannot express the 
heartfelt delight I have experienced, at the unexpected sympathy 
and approbation with which those remarks have been received on 
both sides of the Atlantic. I speak this not from any paltry feel- 
ings of gratified vanity ; for I attribute the effect to no merit of 
my pen. The paper in question was brief and casual, and the 
ideas it conveyed were simple and obvious. " It was the cause : 
it was the cause " alone. There was a predisposition on the part 
of my readers to be favorably affected. My countrymen responded 
in heart to the filial feelings I had avowed in their name toAvards 
the parent country : and there was a generous sympathy in every 
English bosom towards a solitary individual, lifting up his voice 
in a strange lamd, to vindicate the injured character of his nation. 
There are some causes so sacred as to carry with them an irre- 
sistible appeal to every virtuous bosom : and he needs but little 
powder of eloquence, who defends the honor of his wife, his 
mother, or his country. 

I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, as showing 
how much good may be done by a kind word, however feeble, 
when spoken in season — as showing how much dormant good 
feeling actually exists in each country, towards the other, which 
only wants the slightest spark to kindle it into a genial flame — as 
showing, in fact, what I have all along believed and asserted, that 
the two nations would grow together in esteem and amity, if 
meddling and malignant spirits would but throw by their mis 
chievous pens, and leave kindred hearts to the kindly impulses 
of nature. 

I once more assert, and I assert it with increased conviction 
of its truth, that there exists among the great majority of my 
countrymen a favorable feeling toward England. I repeat this 



484 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

assertion, beaiiise I think it a truth that cannot too often be reit- 
erated, and because it has met with some contradiction. Among 
all the liberal and enlightened minds of my countrymen, among 
all those which eventually give a tone to national opinion, there 
exists a cordial desire to be on terms of courtesy and friendship. 
But at the same time, there exists in those very minds a distrust 
of reciprocal good-will on the part of England. They have been 
rendered morbidly sensitive by the attacks made upon their coun- 
try by the English press ; and their occasional irritability on this 
subject has been misinterpreted into a settled and unnatuf'al hos- 
tility. 

For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as belonging 
to generous natures. I should look upon my countrymen as fallen 
indeed from that independence of spirit which is their birth-gift ; 
as fallen indeed from that pride of character which they inherit 
from the proud nation from which they sprung, could they tamely 
sit down under the infliction of contumely and insult. Indeed, 
the very impatience which they show as to the misrepresentations 
of the press, proves their respect for English opinion, and their 
desire for English amity ; for there is never jealousy where there 
i? not strong regard. 

It is easy to say, that these attacks are all the effusions of 
worthless scribblers, and treated with silent contempt by the 
nation ; but alas ! the slanders of the scribbler travel abroad, and 
the silent contempt of the nation is only known at home. "With 
England, then, it remains, as I have formerly asserted, to promote 
a mutual spirit of conciliation ; she has but to hold the lanfjua^e 
of friendship and respect, and she is secure of the good-will of 
every American bosom. 

In expressing these sentiments, I would utter nothing that 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 485 



should commit the proper spirit of my countrymen. We seek no 
boon at England's hands : we ask nothing as a favor. Her friend- 
ship is not necessary, nor would her hostility be dangerous to 
our well-being. We ask nothing from abroad that we cannot 
reciprocate. But with respect to England, we have a warm feel- 
ing of the heart, the glow of consanguinity that still lingers in 
our blood. Interest apart — past differences forgotten — we extend 
the hand of old relationship. We merely ask, do not estrange us 
from you ; do not destroy the ancient tie of blood ; do not let scoffers 
and slanderers drive a kindred nation from your side : we would 
fain be friends ; do not compel us to be enemies. 

There needs no better rallying ground for international amity, 
than that furnished by an eminent English writer : " There is," 
says he, " a sacred bond between us of blood and of language, 
which no circumstances can break. Our literature must always 
be theirs ; and though their laws are no longer the same as ours, 
we have the same Bible, and we address our common Father in 
the same prayer. Nations are too ready to admit that they have 
natural enemies ; why should they be less willing to believe that 
they have natural friends."* 

To the magnanimous spirits of both countries must we trust to 
carry such a natural alliance of affection into full effect. To pens 
more powerful than mine I leave the noble task of promoting the 
cause of national amity. To the intelligent and enlightened of 
my own country, I address my parting voice, entreating them to 
show themselves superior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and 

* From an article (said to be by Robert Soiithey, Esq.) published in the 
Quarterly Review. It is to be lamented that that publication should so often 
forofet the generous text here given. 



486 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



the worthless, and still to look with dispassionate and philosophic 
eye to the moral character of England, as the intellectual source 
of our rising greatness ; while I appeal to every generous-minded 
Englishman from the slanders which disgrace the press, insult the 
understanding, and belie the magnanimity of his country : and I 
mvite him to look to America, as to a kindred nation, worthy of 
its origin ; giving, in the healthy vigor of its growth, the best of 
comments on its parent stock; and reflecting, in the dawning 
brightness of its fame, the moral effulgence of British glory. 

I am sure that such an appeal will not be made in vain. In- 
deed I have noticed, for some time past, an essential change in 
English sentiment with regard to America. In parliament, that 
fountain-head of public opinion, there seems to be an emulation, 
on both sides of the house, in holding the language of courtesy 
and friendship. The same spirit is daily becoming more and 
more prevalent in good society. There is a growing curiosity con- 
cerning my country ; a craving desire for correct information, that 
cannot fail to lead to a favorable understanding. The scoffer, I 
trust, has had his day ; the time of the slanderer is gone by ; 
the ribald jokes, the stale commonplaces, which have so long 
j)assed current when America was the theme, are now banished to 
the ignorant and the vulgar, or only perpetuated by the hireling 
scribblers and traditional jesters of the press. The intelligent 
and high-minded now pride themselves upon making America a 
study. 

But however my feelings may be understood or reciprocated 
CM either side of the Atlantic, I utter them without reserve, for I 
have ever found that to speak frankly is to speak safely. I am 
not so sanguine as to believe that the two nations are ever to be 
bound togetlier by any romantic ties of feeling ; but I believe that 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 487 



much may be done towards keeping alive cordial sentiments, were 
every well-disposed mind occasionally to throw in a simple word 
of kindness. If I have, indeed, produced any such effect by my 
writings, it will be a soothing reflection to me, that for once, in the 
course of a rather negligent life, I have been useful; that for 
once, by the casual exercise of a pen which has been in general 
but too unprofitably employed, I have awakened a chord of sympa- 
thy between the land of my fathers and the dear land which gave 
me birth. 

In the spirit of these sentiments I now take my farewell of 
the paternal soil. With anxious eye do I behold the clouds of 
doubt and difficulty that lower over it, and earnestly do I hope 
they may all clear up into serene and settled sunshine. In bidding 
this last adieu, my heart is filled with fond, yet melancholy emo- 
tions ; and still I linger, and still, like a child leaving the venera- 
ble abodes of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filial bene- 
diction : " Peace be within thy walls, oh England ! and plenteous 
ness within thy palaces ; for my brethren and my companions' 
sake I will now say, Peace be within thee !" 



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